


Northfield.A Jane Eyre retelling in a 1950s London psychiatric halfway-house.

by SisterMJ



Category: Call the Midwife, Jane Eyre - All Media Types
Genre: 1940s, 1950s, F/M, Psychoanalysis, history of medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 23,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4234188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SisterMJ/pseuds/SisterMJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nurse Shelagh Mannion arrives at Nonnatus Halfway House in 1952 to work as a psychiatric nurse. She meets an enigmatic doctor-in-charge Dr.Turner there. An AU crossover version of Call The Midwife and Jane Eyre.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New beginnings at Nonnatus House

**Author's Note:**

> References to psychiatric disorders, medicine and gender identity.

Northfield. Chapter 1

New beginnings at Nonnatus House.

"Hello. I'm Shelagh Mannion. I was told to report to the matron in charge."

"Venus and Saturn are now in alignment. It is entirely appropriate that you should appear! Welcome to Nonnatus House."

Shelagh was wondering if this old woman in the habit was really a nun or, if she was a guest at Nonnatus Halfway House. It was, after all, a temporary home for former psychiatric patients and other people in need of community life. The nuns of the order of St John ran the place. She had heard only good of this institution so far, and this model of preventive and supportive psychiatric care was the reason she had applied for a post as a nurse here. Now she wasn't so sure of her choice.

"Are you Sister Evangelina?"

A contemptuous grunt. "Certainly not."

A voice rang out from the hall: "Stop frightening the newcomer, Sister Monica Joan."

A round and rather stern-looking nun in her early sixties guided the older Sister aside and offered her hand to Shelagh: "I am the matron in charge. Welcome, Nurse Mannion. Please, come in."

Shelagh followed the matron. The old nun had vanished into the kitchen mumbling something about a cake.

"We are so glad you could join us. I will show you your room later, but first I will tell you about the life here and about your duties…" Sister Evangelina guided Shelagh in to her office.

Later, sitting in her room, waiting for the dinner gong, she mused on what Sister Evangelina had told her. The Halfway house ran on community life, with common meals, rehabilitative work and common prayer at the Chapel. There were eight single or double rooms in the guest wing for former psychiatric patients or other people who needed a temporary shelter or retreat. "Loneliness, that is the great affliction of our times", Sister Evangelina had sighed. "We try to offer what we can: the best medicine of company, prayer and suitable work". There was a vegetable garden, a carpentry shed, and a room for handicrafts and needlework on the ground floor. Laundry shifts were rotated between the residents. Many of them took part in these activities. Cooking and other kitchen duties were organized by the housekeeper and the cook, Mrs. Fairfax.

Sister Evangelina said Mrs. Fairfax worked part-time at Nonnatus and part time as the live-in housekeeper of Doctor Turner, the doctor-in-charge.

He ran his large general surgery out of Nonnatus House in addition to looking after the Nonnatus patients. He got a quarter of his salary from Nonnatus Foundation, and the resident nurses rotated as his receptionists. There was also a small ward of six beds, a mini-hospital, on the ground floor.

On the other wing, the so-called nurses wing, there were rooms and apartments for nurses and nuns who worked as district nurses or midwives. Two working nuns were living there right now, Sister Mary Cynthia and Sister Evangelina herself. Nurses Trixie Franklin and Jennie Lee were the other residents in that wing.

Shelagh had been shown the chapel, a beautiful place. Partly she had been drawn to work here because of her religious beliefs. She was fascinated by the idea of working adults, patients and guests living and praying together.

Hearing the dinner gong, Shelagh walked the stairs down to the great hall leading to the Common Dining Hall. She heard a door slam and at the bottom of steps she nearly stumbled on someone.

"Gangway!"this tall, dark man cried and ran towards the hospital ward, his coat flowing.

From the door of the ward, he hollered at her: "Do not startle me like that. And the visiting hours are over, you should leave immediately."

She turned around and retorted:"I am not a visitor."

"Well, you look like one. From some otherworldly sphere, perhaps."

With this astonishing repartee, he vanished in the ward.

In the dining hall, Shelagh met Sister Monica Joan again. "Oh, you have met Doctor Turner . He must have thought you were a visitor from realms apart from ours. You look a little like elf, you know, "she said with a whimsical smile.

Shelagh touched her new glasses a bit self-consciously.

Sister Evangelina arrived just in time to hear this. She shook her head. In a low tone, she explained to Shelagh that Sister Monica Joan had the early marks of senile dementia and how you should sometimes just ignore her. Shelagh knew of Sister Monica Joan's work as a nurse and her pioneering work on rehabilitative occupational therapy and therapeutic communities. Now she was living with them in her old age "giving us cheer and moments of exasperation, in equal turns", Sister Evangelina had laughed.

At the dinner table Shelagh had met the other nurses and some of the present guests. It had been a remarkably cosy meal. I am really going to enjoy this, Shelagh thought. After dinner, Shelagh helped Mrs. Fairfax with the washing-up. The housekeeper-cook had then left for home, leaving Shelagh to finish the cleaning of the dining hall.

She smelled cigarette smoke. She heard noise. Someone was in the living room. She approached the door tentatively. Doctor Turner sat there smoking and staring at the fire in the fireplace.

"Please come in Nurse Mannion. I won't bite," he said without turning his head. How had he known it was her? She noticed a narrow mirror above the mantelpiece and a tall, large one in the hall behind her. He was inspecting her reflection in the small mirror, basically seeing only her back.

She entered the room, only to hear the footsteps of Sister Evangelina after her. She was bringing a glass of sherry for Doctor Turner. "A glass for you, Doctor. Thanks for today. Excellent work, but please do not scare our new nurse. She has already met Sister Monica Joan, that is enough for one day."

He smiled a little. "Nurse Mannion and I have already met." He rose and offered her his hand." I am sorry for being so curt. There was an emergency. " Shelagh could sense honesty underneath this brevity. Here is someone I could like - if he'd let me, she thought.

"Oh, good, you have already let her feel your typical bedside manner, "Sister Evangelina laughed. "So I do not have to issue a warning about that."

"Thank you, Sister Evangelina,." he commented with a perfectly friendly, amused manner, not at all perturbed by her teasing.

As Sister Evangelina left for her office, Shelagh came forward to warm her hands in front of the fire.

"Please, take a seat, Nurse Mannion." His voice was deep and sounded tired.

Shelagh sat down in the armchair, observing him. He had a craggy face and long legs that were currently spread apart on the low sofa. There was some silver in his dark hair, although Shelagh guessed that he was not older than forty. He was not a handsome man, per se, but he had a kind of rugged charm. There was, however, an air of heaviness around him that seemed to subdue it.

"You should not run in the corridors." Her tone was neutral, she didn't want to sound reprimanding.

He raised his eyebrows and smiled wryly.

"Sometimes running is the only option. You'd know that if you'd served in the war."

"I did serve in the war."

"Did you?"

"I mean I served by taking care of the victims of war. I worked with war victims at Hampstead Heath Nursery. Children, displaced by war."

He rose a little from his hunched position and took a look at her. "I am sorry, Nurse. I didn't mean to dismiss you. You look quite young to your age, then. I presumed you were a child during the war. How old are you?”  
"I am twenty-five."

"Where did you study?"

"At the London Central Nursing School. But I entered the Hampstead Heath Clinic* as a war victim myself, at the age of fourteen. I've lived there ever since. I've been helping with their practice. I completed my nursing school with their financial and….other help."

"Hampstead is a very good institution. Those women are quite the trailblazers. I only hope that that kind of training and research will someday become the norm in the psychiatric training. It wasn't easily available when I was studying."

"So, where did you specialize in psychiatry?

"The Countess of Irby hospital." A pause. "And at Northfield."

"I have heard that Northfield Hospital is quite a place. Great progressive work."

"Yes. It is." His face turned dark as if remembering something unpleasant.

After a silence, he asked: "May I ask what happened to you when you were fourteen?"

Shelagh pressed her hands against her knees. It was an odd interrogation. Yet she felt that despite his rough manner, he was seriously interested.

"The Aberdeen Blitz."

"Ah. The bombs. "

If Shelagh had been able to take a look at him, she would have seen his face turn gentle.

He had risen, to tend the fire and add a log into it. While he was doing this task, he seemed to mutter something to himself.

"Hmm. How much psychological help was needed to overcome that? A lot of survivor's guilt, I reckon. With a heavy dose of stubborn will to live. An interesting condition."

Shelagh was not sure if she was required to answer or even if he was talking about her at all. His voice was diffident, his manner absent, his gaze fixed on the fire.

His focus returned with a clap of his hands. "Well then Nurse Mannion, welcome to the regiment. I am glad we have you as a re-enforcement. Please, shake my hand."

She took his hand. It was firm and warm. He must think I am dumb, she thought.

He seemed to read her mind. "You think I am silly or that I think that you are silly. No, Nurse Mannion, I only want to shake the hand of a good comrade. A comrade-in-arms."

She smiled weakly. "We are not at war anymore."

"Do not think that war is over. There is an ongoing war against disease, poverty and…dare I say…stupidity. Surely you share this fight with me? You could be a companion. Of mine. In that fight."

"Who are you calling stupid, Doctor?"

He chortled. "You do not shrink from telling me to mind my manners, do you? I meant ignorance and fear. They are the most stupid things to conquer. "

He was looking so different now; there was life and urgency in his appearance. "You must learn my battle cry. No fuss, no silly propriety rules. Then we will get along fine. Nice to have met you, Nurse Mannion."

Turning on his heels, he was gone.

Despite feeling as if she had been run over by a bus, Shelagh felt fine. Elated even. This is going to be interesting.

* see Hampstead War Nurseries, Anna Freud Centre


	2. Meeting Timothy and Poplar residents

Northfield Chapter 2

Meeting Timothy and other Poplar residents

By and by, Shelagh was learning the Nonnatus House routines and schedules. There were from six to eight guests at a time, and the meals, prayers and the community life were open to any people at Poplar who wished to take part in them. She had learned how to keep the community life going: the garden tended, laundry taken care of, logs available for the fire, food for kitchen bought at the local shops and the handicrafts and needle work kept in progress. Quiet hours at the chapel were her recreation; singing hymns together seemed a blessing, an oasis in the middle of busy days.

There was also nursing work in the district which occasionally fell to her. Last, but not least, there were the surgery hours, working together with the enigmatic Doctor Turner.

On her second full day at the Nonnatus House, Shelagh learned more about him in a series of quickly escalating events.

She had entered the hall in the first floor to see Sister Monica Joan knocking on the door to a cleaning cupboard.

"Please, Timothy, come out of there! Your elevenses are waiting."

A voice came from inside the cupboard. "Wait a minute, Sister, I haven't finished the development yet. The photos are at a delicate phase."

Sister Monica Joan harrumphed and turned away waving her hands in the air. "That boy should have kept to his drawing and water-colours. This photograph business is getting out of hand."

Laughing, Mrs. Fairfax appeared at the door of the kitchen. "No chance there, Sister. The boy has his father's tenacity. And photography runs in the family."

Mrs. Fairfax beckoned Shelagh to the kitchen' "Come here, Nurse Mannion. Have one of my rolls, they are just out of the oven."

Shelagh took a seat at the kitchen table where Sister Monica Joan was already tasting the rolls. Mrs. Fairfax poured a cup of tea for Shelagh. "Have a little snack, Nurse. You look like you do not eat enough. You need some fattening up."

Shelagh took the cup and a buttered a roll. "Who was that in the cupboard, Mrs. Fairfax? I thought it was a cleaning cupboard.

"It is indeed. But we have given young master Timothy Turner a permission to use it as a studio for the development of his films. There is a sink, and he has put a red lamp bulb there. That is why the Sister here calls it a Red Room."

"I would not be astonished if it does not in the end produce events of unpleasant horror similar to those of its illustrious namesake. I of course mean Jane Eyre's Red Room, Sister Monica Joan smiled innocently at Shelagh. "A most extraordinary heroine."

"Who is Timothy Turner?" asked Shelagh.

"Oh, he is Doctor Turner's son. You didn't know he has a son?"

"Is there a Mrs. Turner?"

"She died after the war, in 1945. Tuberculosis, I have heard. I originally come from Birmingham, as do the Parkers, Mrs. Turner's family, and as does the good doctor himself. I know old Mrs., Parker slightly and she asked me to be their housekeeper when they moved here in 1948. I never met Mrs. Turner, though."

At that moment, the door of the closet opened, and a slender, brown-haired, boy with a dazzling smile came out. "Hey, look at these. My photographs of the last school outing in the New Forest turned out really well. There is Jack and me by the trail head. That one I took with the self-timer. And I managed to take a very good one of Dad leaning against his car."

"Timothy, this is Nurse Mannion who has just started working here. Say hello."

The boy shook hands with Shelagh. What a sweet child, she thought.

"Can I have my elevenses now, please, Mrs. Fairfax?"

"Yes, you may."

While he was eating, the boy chattered on about the school trip and all the aspects of the photos he had taken there. How different from his Father he is, Shelagh mused.

Sister Monica Joan intervened in the chatter: "Tim, you should show Nurse Mannion your water colour works. They are more tasteful than those snapshots. There is the fine one based on the photograph of your Mother. "

Timothy went to the living room and came back with a portfolio. "I keep my portfolio here instead of home," he said in a tone of conspiracy to Shelagh. "To tell the truth, there is always a much better audience here than at home. I think my Dad gets sad with my pictures. Perhaps I remind him of Mum too much."

Shelagh was shown both the original photo and Tim's water colour version of it. Tim's hand was very good for a child of his age. Shelagh could see a likeness between mother and son. Mrs. Turner seemed to have had the same brown hair as Timothy as well as the same delicate chin and nose. She had been a stylish woman.

"I have to go," Tim said, closing his portfolio, "Jack is waiting for me. Goodbye Sister, goodbye Nurse Mannion. See you later Mrs.F."

And he was gone. When it came to moving rapidly, he was his father's son, Shelagh thought, smiling a little.

"Poor boy." Mrs. Fairfax sighed. "A fine character, I think, but in need of more adult supervision. His father is too busy, and men are not naturally inclined to child-rearing. "

"How old is Timothy? Isn't photography an….expensive hobby for a boy so young?"

"He is twelve. The camera was a gift from his grandmother. The Parkers are an eccentric, but a fairly wealthy family. The old Doctor Parker was the head of Northfield Hospital. I think these kinds of artistic interests are not unusual in their circles."

 

________________________________________

A week later, Shelagh had another opportunity to get acquainted with Doctor Turner and his character. It was Sunday supper, a small affair after the big Sunday lunch. Mrs. Fairfax had taken the evening off and Maureen Warren, an 18-year-old dark-haired girl with a very sure manner in the kitchen had taken her place as cook.

Doctor Turner and Timothy were present, Timothy having turned down his Dad's offer of fish and chips. Doctor Turner related this news himself in a happy manner.

There was a large congregation around the table, eating leftovers from the weekend.

Shelagh sat between Doctor Turner and Sister Monica Joan. Sister Monica Joan made her opinions heard aloud, while Doctor Turner preferred to talk to Shelagh in a low voice. He was introducing her to the life stories of the people there.

It seemed there was a recently discharged couple from The Countess of Irby hospital, Victor and Ellen Tenby. Then there was a retired Methodist pastor: according to Doctor Turner, he was forced to retire because he was suspected of embezzling from his church. His wife was there too, with long dark hair and saintly eyes. She had been a novice at the Order of St. John when she had met her husband.

At that news, Shelagh turned to him and asked if he was absolutely sure it was true. "It happened before my time, you may have heard that I arrived here with Timothy in 1948, but yes, I think it is true. Ask Sister Evangelina, if you do not believe me." He had a slightly mischievous look.

The young cook was bringing out the desert leftovers: jelly, cake and vanilla custard.

"Our temporary cook, Maureen, is from a famous Poplar family. She is the eldest daughter of Conchita Warren, the heroic mother of eighteen children," continued Doctor Turner.

"Eighteen?" repeated Shelagh in disbelief."

Sister Monica Joan joined the conversation, "I remember when she came to Poplar from Spain. Mr. Warren, Len, took her home with him from the Spanish Civil War. She couldn't have been much older than fourteen at that time." Her voice was loud, and Sister Evangelina was making gestures to Shelagh to make her lower her voice.

"That sounds…scandalous." Shelagh said haltingly.

"Len was always the odd one out, wasn't he, Sister Monica Joan? " Doctor Turner gave a sideways look to Shelagh. "He always knew his mind and didn't stray. He has become a model of a family man. His sons are now helping him with his booming carpentry business. And the girls are all bonny and bright, like Maureen."

"Oh yes. I think most men would have been pleased with enemy binoculars, but he had to have his girl. "Sister Monica Joan showed her wonderful capacity for drollness.

Shelagh laughed. She couldn't help herself. Doctor Turner looked at her with astonishment and grinned widely. "You have a good sense of humour, Nurse Mannion. You will need it in Poplar."


	3. Listening

Northfield, Chapter 3.

In this AU story, Call The Midwife Alec Jesmond does not die.

Listening

Timothy Turner enjoyed having a new audience; Shelagh was soon given many opportunities to see his new photographs and drawings. He visited Nonnatus House quite often, and Shelagh developed a good rapport with the sensitive, lonely boy. Working alongside Mrs. Fairfax in the Nonnatus kitchen, Timothy told Shelagh of his days at school and his Cub meetings. Shelagh had also been shown his treasured family photo album with pictures of a young Doctor Turner, Mrs. Jennifer Turner and other relatives in it. The family ties to Birmingham were now loose, but it seemed that before Mrs. Turner's death and their removal to London, the couple had belonged to a very close circle of family and friends. These friends were mostly old Doctor Parker's colleagues and their families. Below the pictures, Shelagh came across many familiar names, scribbled there apparently by Granny Parker, as Tim called his maternal grandmother.

"Doctor Bion and Mrs. Faulkes playing croquet." "Lydia Rickman having tea with Jennifer in the garden" "Uncle Trotter with his nephews and nieces".

For Shelagh, these were near-famous people whose articles she had read as a student nurse: Wilfred Bion, Siegfried Faulkes, John Rickman and Wilfred Trotter. In one group portrait, there was even Ernst Jones*, of whom she had heard quite a lot from Anna Freud.

At the surgery, Shelagh developed a similar rapport with Timothy's father. He liked to talk shop with her.

Through these conversations, a new world was opening for Shelagh. They talked of the cases of the day and new treatments –but that was not so unfamiliar to her. The man himself was a new experience. It seemed he had a deep interest in the history of medicine and that not many people in Poplar shared this interest.

He could still be blunt but he was no longer dour in those times when she let him think aloud, and he seemed to enjoy her popping questions or remarks at him.

On one spectacular day, they had one of these conversations.

"That was a close call."

Doctor Turner came back from the telephone clearly relieved at the news he had just received. Earlier that day, there had been a serious accident at a construction area. A young architect, Alec Jesmond, was badly hurt, and after Doctor Turner's first aid, Jesmond was transferred to the London. Now they got the news that the vascular surgery had been successful; his foot had been saved.

"That is good news, Doctor."

He sat down and stretched his arms above his head. "To think that only ten years ago this day would have gone quite differently. Without antibiotics, Alec Jesmond may well have died. And the progress of surgery has been enormous. During the war, we only dreamed of these things."

He chuckled with a hint of cynicism. "Do you know what my most desired diagnosis was in the war? Just four little words: No need to amputate. "

"Did you like serving in the army?"

"Yes, I liked to serve in the army. It was practical and you felt needed. Different from psychiatric cases, which can sometimes leave you helpless. The progress in psychiatry can be too slow for my impatient nature….".

He grinned a little. "Aha, you are smiling, Nurse Mannion? Do you admire my astonishing self-awareness?"

"Please go on, Doctor. The progress is slow in psychiatry…?" She had gained some resistance to his teasing.

He exhaled. "All right. Sometimes I am fed up with the poor resources we have. And there are not enough treatment options. We can give barbiturates, electric shocks or supportive therapy and that's it. Group therapy and other clinical experiments showed early promise, as did psychoanalytic research, but they are not fully feasible to all mental illnesses…."

His face turned a little melancholy. "I'd like to be of use, to be able to make things better. Just think that only forty years ago, a simple appendectomy was a great risk. Now it is a relatively routine procedure."

He looked at Shelagh with quizzical eyes. "I remember being told that Doctor Ernst Jones's first wife died during appendectomy. It is hard when a death comes so near. It makes our professional expertise seem futile."

He stared into the distance. "If something goes wrong…..you just have to bear it. Do you know what Jones chose for his wife's epitaph? 'Here the indescribable is done'."

He winced. "Sometimes I understand where he was coming from. What's the point? Someday we will all be food for worms."

Shelagh understood that he wasn't talking only about the Joneses. She had an inkling of how he may have dealt with his own losses. It was good that he didn't keep it all inside.

Yet on a day like this, there was no need to dwell on such memories. She decided some tough love was needed.

"Well, I am not ready for the worms yet, and neither was Alec Jesmond. Let that make us cheerful today. Cheerful enough to finish writing these prescriptions."

She put a pile of papers before him. He raised his upper lip in an ironical manner and rose up from his lounging position.

"Aye aye, sir. I mean mademoiselle. As you wish."

After filling in a couple of forms, he stopped for a moment and looked up at her:

"It is good that you keep me in order. You are the first receptionist to succeed in that. "

"Well, you are quite a handful, Doctor."

"Yes. I am. "

*) Siegfried Foulkes, Wilfred Bion and John Rickman are the founders of group psychotherapy and therapeutic communities in Britain. Wilfred Trotter was a sociologist who created the concept of herd instinct and he was Ernst Jones’s brother-in-law.  
** ) A British psychoanalyst and a biographer of Freud


	4. The sad case of the Kelly baby

Northfield Chapter 4  
A baby delivered by Cynthia dies in mysterious circumstances soon afterwards. The police become involved, and other pregnant women refuse to allow the shy young midwife to attend them, bringing Cynthia to the verge of a breakdown. (based on this Call The Midwife Ep 2.2)  
_________________________

There is nothing sadder in the world than a baby dying. Sister Mary Cynthia had been forced to go through hell with the death of the Kelly baby, and the Nonnatus House community had lived it with her.

There was a sense of relief, in the middle of sadness, when she had been declared innocent of any malpractice.

Doctor Turner was sitting at the large desk in the Clinic Room, finishing the final report to the medical officials, when Shelagh brought him a tea tray.

"Is there anything else I can get you, Doctor?"

He leaned back in his chair and gazed at her.

"Some of your faith, perhaps. With cases like this, I wish I had one."

"With cases like this, I wish faith would matter."

Doctor Turner's face bore a mixture of alarm and an odd kind of relief.

Then he drew up a chair. "Please be seated. Have tea with me." He poured a cup of tea for her, without asking if she wanted it or not, and fetched a mug for himself from the cupboard.

He was clearly having one of his impish moods. Shelagh had a contrary streak in her character that whispered she should decline and leave the field victorious. But something in his similarly antagonistic nature forced her from her shell. It was as if he was a messenger sent to reveal the unseen corners of her soul, whether she wished it or not. His sarcasm, wit and humour made her drop her guard. She felt called to be courageous. She slipped into the chair.

"So, what do you think will cure the Kelly family?" he asked.

"A second baby. But that does not mean they will forget Thomas."

"You are so good with names. An excellent skill in district nursing. But what about Sister Mary Cynthia?"

"She has God to comfort and restore her, and she has her Sisters. And the joy of birth. There will be many other chances to prove her skills for her. She has been at difficult births before and has successfully saved the lives of both babies and mothers. It will happen again."

"Hmpphh. Your trust in your God is good for you and for Sister Mary Cynthia. But what of us infidels? Our second chances do not rely on the idea of Providence. Is there a redemption in repetition?"

His face turned incredulous. "This conversation is odd. I am asking you, a mere girl, the eternal questions. "

"That is all right, Doctor."

He took a cigarette from his case and lit it.

"I should perhaps apologize for always being so brusque. Now I am at least trying to break that habit. But in general, will you allow me to speak to you as someone more experienced than you? Being twelve years older, will you allow me to patronize you a little?

She chuckled.

"Are you laughing at me?"

He offered her a cigarette. She shook her head. "I don't smoke." After a pause, she continued: "But I could take a puff."

"Of this?" Doctor Turner said, astonished.

"Yes." He gave her the cigarette. He looked slightly alarmed at her easy familiarity in taking a puff.

He took the cigarette back, inhaled sharply and asked squinting his eyes: "So, why the mirth, Mannion?"

She smiled internally. She loved the way he used her surname like an endearment.

"I'm laughing because I am a paid underling of yours here at Nonnatus House. I am not used to doctors asking for permission to be patronizing. You get used to that as a matter of course in nurse training."

He grinned. "I'm sure you do. I had forgotten that you are my subordinate here. So, will you sometimes let me talk to you informally without mistaking that for insolence because you work here?"

"No, not on that basis. I think I can tell the difference between informality and insolence. One I rather like, the other nothing free-born would submit to, even for a salary. But I will let you talk however you like because you forgot that I was just a nurse."

Doctor Turner's countenance melted into gentleness. Shelagh thought he looked rather sweet that way. Then he let out a contemptuous harrumph and the cynical expression returned. "I think you underestimate the human ability to accept humiliating treatment if the price is right. So, back to the topic, do you think I could get a second chance? For happiness? For redemption? What does your God say or those wise psychoanalysts you have been living with? You are familiar with the concept of a corrective experience?"

"I believe in corrective experiences. I also believe that you have to let your conscience guide your choices."

"The conscience. Does that voice speak always the truth?"

"That is my experience."

"Hmm… Not mine." There was again that shade of sullenness.

He rose.

"Well, Mannion, no clear answers for today, but it has been an education, as always. You should be paid extra for acting as my personal Sibylla."

He pressed both his palms on the desk and bent down to Shelagh.

"Do you mind me calling you Mannion?" His tone was serious.

"No, not at all."

"Thank you, Mannion. Keep up the spirit. Sorry, I have to go. My son and other duties call. Goodbye." He left.

As ever, he had created more enigmas than revealed. Who is really the Sibylla here? Why the talk of second chances?

Shelagh felt her face glow. She should not, ought not, wonder. And yet she did.


	5. The Three-Legged Race

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am giving Timothy the Jack's mild case of polio…..And Shelagh a passive-aggressive fit, as she is still a war victim with survivor's guilt.

Northfield Chapter 5

The three-legged-race

"Come on, Nurse! Come on, Timothy! You can do it!" Doctor Turner was running and cheering on the sidelines of the three-legged-race. It was the Harvest Moon Festival in Poplar, and the three-legged-race was a legendary family sport there. Originally, Doctor Turner had been meant to participate in the race with Timothy. Unfortunately, he had been called out to a sickbed, so Nurse Mannion had taken his place. He had returned just in time for the time of the final run, Shelagh and Timothy having already won their two preliminary heats. They aced the final, too, although, in the end they stumbled over the finishing line.

Doctor Turner came over to help them get up off the ground.

"Timothy, you can't go anywhere yet. Hold still and don't move your leg." He smiled, embarrassed, at Shelagh. "Let's get this band off. " He became chivalrous and uncharacteristically nervous. "May I? Perhaps you'd prefer to unbind it yourself."

Shelagh was already fingering the knot. "Let me do it. My fingers are more suited to this."

He grumbled something under his breath. Shelagh wasn't sure, but it sounded like "those small, white elfin wings".

He remained bent down and watched over her as she unknotted the tie. Then they all stood up.

"There, Timothy, now you can go after your mates. But no more running. You know the Doctor's orders."

Shelagh watched Tim leave and turned to Doctor Turner, giving him a questioning look. "What Doctor's orders? Is Tim not feeling well?"

"He had polio a year ago. Not a very bad case, and the physical therapy was very effective. Still, he can't strain himself too much."

"And you let him take part in this three-legged-race? When you knew he would compete seriously?"

Doctor Turner was startled at her reproaching tone. "Nurse Mannion, it was safe enough. He is a twelve year old boy, and must be left to his own devices every now and then. He must be allowed to test his strength."

"Do you really think so? Is that being a responsible parent?" Shelagh felt her anger rise and she took a deep breath. She pressed a handkerchief in her hand hard to distract herself from a sudden urge to cry.

Only now did she notice that she had hurt her hand. So did Doctor Turner. "There's blood. You have hurt your hand when you fell. Damn."

"Oh, I am perfectly safe to be left to my own devices with that, Doctor," she snipped at him. "No need to amputate." She turned her back to him and hurried away toward the surgery.

She heard him say sharply: "Nurse Mannion! I didn't mean….Oh blast."

She was seeking a bandage in the cupboard when she saw him standing at the door. "You may not think much of me as a parent, but as a Doctor might I suggest that you clean the wound with water first? Then I could help you disinfect it, I brought spirit with me." He showed the bottle in his hand, and he wore a very humble hang-dog expression.

"All right. I will wash the wound first." She held her hand under the running cold water. The sounds of water running, children shrieking and the general hum of the bonfire party from the alley created a magic circle around them. Dusk had settled and in the eerie light, he stood there by the sink and watched her in silence, his fist under his chin like a meditating gnome. She stopped the water, dried her hands and offered the injured hand for him to inspect.

"Hmmm." He had put a dosage of spirit onto a cotton pad. "This may sting a little". Shelagh felt the coldness of alcohol, but the hand that held hers was warm. She could feel his pulsing veins against hers while he kept her hand still. The odour of spirit and the odd intimacy of his ministrations made her dizzy. Now he was bandaging her hand, tying the knot a little too tightly. She heard herself let out a little cry.

"Too tight?" He loosened the bandage. "But it must be properly protected."

He let go of her hand, at last. Leaning against the desk, he started to talk. "I didn't mean to hurt you and I had no intention of letting Timothy hurt himself. And I don't think he did, Timothy knows his limits. Unlike his father, who is much more inclined to….be pushy."

His appearance of helplessness and regret was rather appealing.

He furrowed his brow and covered his mouth as if wishing to hide his face from her. He smiled wanly: "I like your friendship with Timothy. He needs adult friends." He cleared his throat. "I'd like us to be friends too. I need….I mean, I don't have many friends."

He offered his hand to her. "Truce?"

Shelagh took his hand. His grip was light, as if he was still afraid she would jolt. "Truce."

He turned abruptly and left, as was his manner. Shelagh watched his broad shoulders retreating. She felt that her world, which had been so enlarged after her arrival at Nonnatus House, was shrinking again. All the kingdom and all the glory she had ever needed was now focused on those broad shoulders.


	6. Mirror, mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What do we see when we look in the mirror? Our truest selves? Or a faint approximation of someone we'd rather be? The mirror sees it all. Our fears, our little triumphs, and keeps our secrets, holds our disappointments in." (Call The Midwife, Ep. 4.8)

Northfield Chapter 6

 

It was a cosy evening at Nonnatus House living room. Doctor Turner was sitting by the fire, smoking. Timothy was busy drawing his Teddy bear Cuthbert, of all things; he had placed the toy high on the book-shelf and was studying the colours in this setting with a comic seriousness, his pencils spread on the window sill. Shelagh was sewing in the arm chair.

Trixie and Jenny were gathered around the coffee table and they were egging on Sister Monica Joan, who was playing Solitaire. "Sister, we need some diversion. I have heard that you can read the cards. I'd like to know if my heart will be taken soon," Trixie giggled.

Sister Monica Joan shook her head. "It is not good to tempt fate, young ladies. I could see something you don't like."

Doctor butted in: "I suspect most of Sister Monica Joan's fortune teller's gifts are based on her long knowledge of human character."

"The good Doctor is not totally wrong," Sister Monica Joan benevolently agreed. "I see the signs, but to interpret them, I trust my instincts. It is a co-operation of the forces Divine and mundane."

"So you confess that it is just plain psychology?" Shelagh queried.

"In many medical practices, the patient's belief in her- or himself is half the cure. The same applies to fortune telling."

"Well, I still think it would be fun to see what you can read of my future. Please, Sister," Jenny pleaded.

Sister Monica Joan sighed. "All right. But I think I will read from a mirror this time. Timothy, could you give me that mirror above the mantelpiece?"

Timothy did as she asked. His father winked at Shelagh. "This is silly. But it could be fun,"he said under his breath.

"I heard you, Doctor Turner," Sister Monica Joan commented icily. "Even if you are a man and in medical profession, it does not mean you can control the forces of universe. The limits of our knowledge must be tested in every possible way."

"Of course, Sister, please go on. I think this is harmless enough."

Trixie was in the grips of eager anticipation. "I've heard that young women gazing into a mirror in a darkened room on Halloween can catch a glimpse of their future husband's face. If this doesn't work, we should try again in October, " she whispered to Jenny.

Sister Monica Joan was staring into the mirror. "Oh, I see a messenger coming, with good news. It is you, Trixie, of course. Beatrix. The one who brings happiness. Nomen Est Omen. How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace. It says so in the Bible." She looked at Trixie's feet. "Do you have new shoes?"

Trixie was impatient. "Yes, I have. Cost a fortune. But what about my love life?"

"I am afraid I can't be responsible for the triviality of the messages,"Sister Monica Joan regally informed. "I can't make the mirror reveal what it does not wish to reveal." Her face wore a mischievous smile. "Now I see a lot of white. It could mean anything. Like white lies. Do you know a lady in white? She appears in mist. It could be the mists of Avalon. Oh yes, it seems to be Queen Guinevere."

"That must mean you, Jenny." Trixie nudged Jenny. "Guinevere is Jennifer."

Jenny laughed. "Perhaps Sir Lancelot will appear soon."

Doctor Turner added in a dry voice: "Guinevere comes from the Welsh for 'White shadows'."

Timothy looked up from his inspection of the shades of three brown pencils: " Queen Guinevere sought asylum first in London tower and then in a nunnery. We learned about the Arthurian legends at school a few weeks ago."

"Did she? It suits very well. That could be our Jenny here, who worked first at the London Hospital and now resides here with the nuns at Nonnatus House." Trixie's excitement had risen again.

Sister Monica Joan continued her rambling. "I see a sky with stars. One very bright star. Stella Polaris. The North Star. Above wide fields."

"What does it mean?" wondered Trixie. "North Star and fields. Oh, Northfield. It could be related to you, Doctor Turner. You worked at Northfield Hospital, didn't you?"

"Yes. More importantly, it was my wife's home. And her name was also Jennifer." He turned to look at Timothy who was working intently.

"Oh, she was? Sorry, Doctor Turner, perhaps Sister Monica Joan has a message for you instead," Jenny quickly retreated.

He laughed a little and shook his head: "I hardly think so, me being such a skeptic."

"Oh yes, Dad is a stalwart science man. I don't think Sister Monica Joan can convert him," Timothy confirmed.

"But you accept the idea of the subconscious and the importance of dreams to psychiatry?" Shelagh asked. "Aren't they fairly odd stuff, too?"

He chuckled. "Touché. None of us can be completely free from imagery." He took an intense puff from his cigarette. "We are all fools of our dreams". He had his sleeves rolled up and the back of his head leaned against his crossed hands. His appearance was relaxed, yet Shelagh felt an invisible tension.

Jenny pressed for further prophecies. "So, there is a Queen Guinevere, but Trixie and I are left without our Lancelots. That is a rather meagre result so far. What about Shelagh, Sister? Do you see anything for her?"

"Wait a minute," interrupted Trixie. "I get all these Arthurian figures mixed up. Wasn't there also an Elaine? Who was she, then?"

"There were in fact two legendary Elaines." Tim's voice was bright and eager. "One who was unhappily in love with Lancelot and died and another Elaine who bore him a son, Sir Galahad." His face fell a little. "Although I must say I was a bit disappointed to learn that they are just vague and sometimes contradicting legends and not history. When I was small I always thought there was a King Arthur, once and future king, and I believed in Robin Hood, too."

This created some hilarity. "Poor Tim, the age for fairytales is so short," commiserated Shelagh.

Sister Monica Joan turned to Timothy. "But you must never doubt my much wedded King Henry poem. That is history. One died, one survived…"

"…two divorced, two beheaded. Yes, Sister, that I know to be true," Timothy nodded.

"Maybe it is our Common Unconscious that makes these tales feel so real. But that is, of course, more a Jungian than Freudian concept," mused Doctor Turner.

"Doctor Turner, I think you should keep Freud out of the discussion when children are present," Sister Monica Joan chastised him. He exchanged an amused glance with Shelagh.

"Please, let me continue," Sister said. "I see a blue sky, I hear bells. Saint Cecilia is singing," she announced self-satisfied. "This could be for Nurse Mannion. A wonderful voice. Shelagh comes from Cecilia, and it means 'heaven'. "

Then she grew serious. "The image changes. I see fog and mist. I see a long hall leading to a sickroom. There is a lady with an ashen face lying there. Dying. She has blonde hair."

She stopped. "Why did I say dying? I don't know why I said that." She put the mirror down. Nobody dared to say anything for a while. The atmosphere had turned sombre.

"The mirror crack'd from side to side…" recited Shelagh in a low tone.

"The curse is come upon me, cried The Lady of Shalott," continued Doctor Turner, with lips barely moving.

"Whatever are you saying?" cried a confused Sister Monica Joan.

"Oh, we operate on pure telepathy with Nurse Mannion," Doctor Turner responded, keeping a light tone, in a room still reverberating with tension. "We were citing a Tennyson poem on Arthurian themes."

Sister Monica Joan asked Timothy to put the mirror back. Then she turned to Shelagh: "Well, it is time for the evening prayer. Will you come and take the privilege of silence with me, Nurse Mannion?"

"Of course, Sister."

Sister Monica Joan rose haltingly, as if she had turned very frail all of a sudden. She left the room with Shelagh.

"Dad, isn't it time for us to go home?" asked Timothy. His father was staring at the fire, not hearing anything. "Dad?"

He frowned and became focused again. "Of course, son."


	7. Appropriate Ties and Missing Buttons

Northfield Chapter 7

 

"Are you staring at me, Nurse Mannion? Is it the tie? It took me forever to choose this one. Is it too gaudy?"

Shelagh had indeed been examining Doctor Turner. They were standing together in the Clinic room inspecting some x-rays on the light table.

She had acquired a habit lately of reading the craggy face, the slightly rumpled dress and the mouth that could look sarcastic or gentle.

"No, Doctor. I think that tie is… totally appropriate."

He was capable of embarrassing her. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. "One of the buttons of your white coat is missing though. "

Doctor Turner started fiddling with the coat in question. "Blast. You're right. Hardly reassuring to my patients. I will have to find another coat."

"All the other coats were sent to the laundry this morning." She offered her hand. "Give it to me, I will sew the button."

"Oh no, no slave workforce, that was prohibited in 1833," he mocked, looking at her and enjoying the situation. "It would be a chore nothing free-born would submit to, even for a salary."

This gentle teasing delighted her. "Don't fuss. What is it you always say? No silly rules of propriety. Hand it over."

He laughed and started to take the coat off. "Hanged by my own words."

"I hope I will never have a reason to hang you by anything more damaging." She left to find thread and a needle.

He stared after her. "What sorcery is this," he muttered to himself. His face had turned serious. Desperate, serious and yearning. "Bloody hell. Damn. Damn, damn, damn."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Jenny deals with Doris Aston, a mother with an aggressive husband whose delivery will reveal her infidelity; she had an affair with a black man. She plans to abandon the baby but is persuaded by Jenny to follow the proper procedures for having the infant adopted. Despite their best efforts, Doris' husband discovers her secret, forcing a more hasty and distressing parting between mother and child." (Call The Midwife, Ep. 3.2)  
> "
> 
> "…whatever anyone else might feel, it couldn't be what Doris felt; her daughter was of and from her, they were a part of each other and always would be."
> 
> "  
> In this chapter, Jenny is replaced with Shelagh.

Northfield Chapter 8

"You leave her alone this instant! Now, go somewhere and you cool off. Do you hear me? Calm down! Because I will call the police, Mr. Aston. Be in no doubt about that."

Shelagh had never before seen Doctor Turner so fierce. He looked quite dashing flush with righteous anger. But the situation with Doris Aston, her husband Cyril and her new mixed-race baby was awful.

Mr. Aston retreated, shaking. He brushed against Doctor Turner's arm angrily as he stomped away.

Doctor Turner pulled Shelagh to the corridor. "We have to take the baby with us now. She can have temporary shelter at Nonnatus House."

"So soon? Mrs. Aston is only just recovering from the birth."

"And what if Mr. Aston should come back tonight? We can't take that risk. I will call Sister Evangelina and she will alert Miss Ellaby. The adoption process must be expedited."

"I don't want to take her baby."

"Nobody wants this. But we have to make sure baby is safe. And she isn't safe here."

Silence hang between them.

"If you can't take her, I will."

Shelagh nodded without saying a word. Doctor Turner touched her arm. "Good. I will go and call Nonnatus House."

XXXXXXXXXX

Shelagh was sitting in the living room with Carole Aston in her arms. The baby was to spend her first night of life under the care of the nuns and nurses at Nonnatus House.

Doctor Turner was about to come in but he stopped at the door, leaning on the frame with his arms, his head hanging. "Battered women. The bastards who beat them. It just gets my goat," he muttered. "Mr. Aston has cause to be upset, but there is never an excuse for violence."

He came in to look at Carole. "What a beautiful little girl." Moving to lean against the fireplace, he exhaled resignedly. "The adoption officials will be here tomorrow."

Shelagh's mouth became pinched. "However will Mrs. Aston get through this?" she asked in a tremulous voice.

He looked mournful. "Mrs. Aston has her family to sustain her. I mean her three other children. " Realistically, she must bear the consequences. " He paused. "But it must hurt. And that husband."

"Yes. That husband."

Shelagh's countenance suddenly lightened. She looked at Carole keenly. "Surely not! It couldn't be! But that did look like a smile."

Doctor Turner's face expressed mild reproach. "You know it's probably wind."

He approached them and took the baby in his arms, raising her towards the lamp. "Ooh, now, that was a smile. For me."

His grin became him so perfectly. It was like a sunray hitting an old, derelict farm house, worn in use, but its ancient Tudor structure still strong. Where do I get these metaphors from, Shelagh wondered? She tried to shake off her…feelings.

"Would you have liked…" She stopped aghast. "Sorry."

"What, Mannion? It's not like you to be reticent." He chuckled and put the baby back in her cot.

"Please, go on. Ask me. Would I have liked what?"

She saw that she could not escape. "I am really out of line here. I was wondering…if you'd have liked more children. I'm sorry. It's not my place to ask. Highly inappropriate."

Doctor Turner furrowed his brow. Then his face became expressionless except for his twitching upper lip. "You and I have both seen how the fate of children is not in our hands. Logically, it is crazy to wish for more children. It is insane." He spread his arms to express his incomprehension. "There should be a Royal Order of Law to check the mental state of people wanting to have children. Yet…"

Shelagh was watching him intently. He seemed to have travelled somewhere far. Then he became focused again.

"I would have liked to have had more children. It is the victory of hope over experience, I guess. It is human. It is not just a primal instinct for survival of the species, but a hope for a better future. Surely my child and his generation shall conquer poverty, disease and stupidity. And find a way to end all wars." He looked at her whimsically. "Do you not think so?"

Shelagh's face was twitching as well, with a smile. "Yes, I do."

He sat down at the other end of the sofa and slouched deeper in to the cushions. From that distance, he inspected her, his eyes narrowing. "Do you want to have children?"

Shelagh was biting her lip and tried hid her embarrassment. She felt a flush of blood on her cheeks.

He rose and was on his way out of the room. "Sorry, I should not have said that," he muttered. And then he was gone.


	9. The X-ray Van and Being So Tremendous

Northfield Chapter 9

 

At first, Shelagh wasn't pleased when she was told to accompany Doctor Turner to the Board of Health in their municipality. There were signs of tuberculosis spreading fast in Poplar, and they need to make a concerted effort to express the concern of the medical professionals in order to get a much needed X-ray Van to make rounds in Poplar. She felt awkward because Jennifer Turner had died of tuberculosis (or so she had been told, Doctor Turner had not opened up on the subject.) There were other reasons for awkwardness, too, but she tried hard not to think of those reasons while she was sitting in his car, on their way to the Board of Health.

The hearing before the Board was an exciting experience. Doctor Turner became very eloquent on the topic of the quickly escalating tuberculosis situation and on how it could be prevented if they only had the means. When the officials seemed not to get his point, she could not help herself but joined in to describe the danger tuberculosis presented to the industries and business ventures in Poplar. It seemed that her point of financial losses brought on by losing a skilled workforce was what made the Board reconsider the appeal. The board promised an answer by the next day. She felt as if they had been in a magnificent battle together and had achieved a splendid victory.

At the conclusion of the hearing, Doctor Turner strode in the corridor so fast that Shelagh was left behind. Yet when she arrived at the lounge, there he was, standing, waiting for her, puffing a little. He turned to look at her.

"Congratulations, Doctor Turner. You were really quite tremendous." Shelagh's eyes were shining. She could not hide her admiration.

Doctor Turner grinned. "As were you, Nurse."

Shelagh could have stayed there for an eternity looking at his pleasantly surprised, glowing face, but she decided it was wise to move on. She left rapidly, and he followed her after a moment, having stood in the lounge as if trying to capture what had happened.

The X-ray Van arrived in Poplar the next week. It was a great day in the medical history of the Poplar area. All the nurses and nuns helped Doctor Turner and Doctor MacGuinness with the screenings. Close to 500 Poplar residents were screened over two days and about 40 suspicious cases were referred to the London for further examination.

On the evening of the second day, both the Doctors had been invited to Nonnatus House by Sister Evangelina, for a "celebratory Horlicks." That was the code name for the sherry parties the Sisters and Nurses sometimes held, and Doctor Turner was familiar with the concept. He arrived with a large bottle of whisky for the party. The atmosphere was cheerful and a true relief and satisfaction filled the hearts of the participants.

Shelagh, however, was a somewhat reluctant party-guest. She had a thing or two occupying her mind. She observed the party from a vantage point in the farthest corner of the living room, behind the coffee table.

She saw Doctor Turner in an intensive conversation with Nurse Lee, both sitting on the couch. Jenny was truly pretty, she thought. She was dark and had those starry eyes. Trixie was sitting in the arm chair talking to Doctor MacGuinness: the man was fair-headed and lively-minded, with a very pleasing manner. When Doctor MacGuinnes vanished in the dining hall, Trixie shifted her focus to Doctor Turner and Jenny. She didn't seem happy to be left out of their conversation: she deliberately took the seat between them. Doctor Turner seemed amused by this ambush. Jenny made her move next. She rose, offered her hand to the Doctor, and pulled him up, leading the reluctant man to the piano. Jenny sat down at the piano and started to play the first beats of the Irish song Carrickfergus.* Doctor Turner had nearly given in, still making feeble resistance: "No, no, I won't sing. Nurse Franklin is a much better singer." Trixie was making gestures of straight denial and was heard to whisper theatrically: "He is just being a diva. He enjoys the attention." Shelagh saw Doctor Turner looking at Trixie seriously, like he was making an assessment of how far this game could be played. Then he sighed. "All right. I will sing, but you must all join in on the second verse."

The beautiful words and tones of Carrickfergus filled the room. Doctor Turner had a pleasing voice, dark and not too smooth. People started to gather around piano to join in the singing.

"If I could find me a handsome boatman to ferry me over to my love and die." Shelagh felt overcome by her emotions and she left the house, retreating to the garden.

Doctor Turner's voice could be heard even there but more distant. She had trouble breathing and there were tears in her eyes. Something other than the song was bothering her. She had heard some odd gossip regarding Doctor Turner today. It was probably total rubbish, but….

While she had been waiting in that X-ray Van for the two doctors to arrive back from their short lunch break, she had heard two men discussing Doctor Turner outside.

"That Doctor Turner, didn't his wife die of tuberculosis? And now he knows how to cure it? I wouldn't be so sure."

The other man laughed with a hint of malice. "You know what they say: the first time is an accident, the second time is a tragedy, a third time is just carelessness. Ladies die around that man."

"What d'ya mean?"

"Only that I wouldn't trust these head doctors to inspect my lungs. They are nuts themselves, I say. Fortunately there is that other Doctor."

Shelagh was familiar with the slander people talked of psychiatrists and psychiatry. That was not new to her. Yet she was disturbed by this talk. She knew that in time she would forget it; that she could make herself ignore it. She was just too sensitive. She needed to toughen up.

Coming out of her musings, Shelagh strained her ears. It seemed that Trixie had now taken the lead, as her voice could be heard above all others from the living room.

Then she heard a voice nearby: "Nurse Mannion. The one that got away."

Shelagh hadn't heard footsteps, yet there he was, Doctor Turner, smoking a cigarette and taking a measurement of her in the same way she had seen him look at Trixie earlier.

Before she could respond, he offered her his cigarette. "Please, take a puff. " Relieved by a chance to act rather than speak, she obliged and took a puff.

He took the cigarette back, offering her a fresh one from his case. "Take one, please"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it would make me a smoker."

He gave a snort of delight. "Ah. Principles again."

After some silence he asked: "Why didn't you come to talk to me up there?"

"There was no need." She paused. "Or chance."

"Oh, Shelagh, chances come to those who rise up to meet them. Not to the person sitting in the corner of the room." He paused as well. "And after being so tremendous…"

She felt a chill run up her spine. He had dropped the Mannion and was calling her by her given name. To shed the feeling, she quickly quipped: "It was a tremendous day for those patients who got their diagnosis today."

"Do not change the subject."

"This is the subject."

"Are you so sure of that?" He came very close to her, leaning against the wall beside her, his head close to her head.

She took a step aside and raised her head, her boldness rising in her, as it always did when teased.

"I know only a part of Carrickfergus. The first verse."

"Would you like to learn the whole song? 'I'm drunk today and seldom sober.' " He had a wry smile. His voice was trembling, betraying passion. Yet she could feel his sadness underneath it. "But to ferry me over…."

This was unbearable. She wasn't sure how drunk he was. He offered her another puff. She declined it and fled inside.

XXXXXX

The next morning, Shelagh met a rueful Doctor Turner at the surgery. He swallowed.

"I am sorry for last night. It was unforgivable. I was rather drunk."

He was fidgeting his thumb against his index finger nervously and his eyes were downcast."I didn't mean to spoil your day, you are entitled to professional satisfaction."

"Yes. You, too, Doctor, you should be proud of the screenings. Let us not spoil that good thing because of some silliness. And I do not know who decides what is forgivable and unforgivable."

"Indeed. Sometimes there is a grain of truth in silliness. In Vino Veritas. But I digress. Good day to you."

Then he turned on his heels and left.

* The song Carrickfergus:

I wish I was in Carrickfergus, only for nights in Ballygran.

I would swim over the deepest ocean, the deepest ocean for my love to find,

But the sea is wide and I can't swim over, neither have I wings to fly.

If I could find me a handsome boatman to ferry me over to my love and die.

My childhood days bring back sad reflections of happy times spent so long ago.

My boyhood friends and my own relations have all passed on now like the melting snow,

But I'll spend my days in endless roaming; soft is the grass, my bed is free.

Ah, to be back now in Carrickfergus on that long road down to the salty sea.

And in Kilkenny it is reported there are marble stones as black as any ink.

With gold and silver I would support her, but I'll sing no more now till I get a drink.

I'm drunk today and I'm seldom sober, a handsome rover from town to town.

Oh, but I'm sick now. And, my days are numbered, so come ye young men and lay me down.


	10. To Hampstead Heath and back To Nonnatus House

Northfield Chapter 10

 

Shelagh was walking to the Tube station. She had been given two weeks leave and would spend it at Hampstead Clinic, at Anna Freud's home.

She didn't know why she had been offered leave; perhaps Sister Evangelina had sensed that something was troubling her.

"You could go now while we aren't so busy. At Christmas time we will need all the hands on deck, and it will not be possible to give you leave for more than, perhaps, three days.. But it is your choice," she had explained. Maureen Warren was moving in to train as a cook with Mrs. Fairfax, and the flow of guests was not overwhelming. Shelagh had decided to go.

She heard a car honking behind her. A black Magnum drove past her and stopped. Doctor Turner and Timothy stepped out of the car.

"What is this I hear? You are leaving for Hampstead?" Doctor Turner said with some trepidation.

"Yes. I am going to have my Christmas holiday now, instead of Christmas. It is relatively quiet at Nonnatus House, so I was given a leave of absence."

"When will you be back?" asked Timothy eagerly. "You must come back for the Halloween parade. All the cubs take part in it, it is great. You should see the lanterns we make."

"Oh, I will be back a good three weeks before the parade, Tim." Shelagh was heartened by the boy's good nature. His father glanced from one to another, his face a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction.

"So, Nurse Mannion, it is farewell, for the present." He offered his hand.

"Goodbye, Doctor. See you soon."

Timothy gave her a hug. "Goodbye, Nurse Mannion. Have a nice holiday."

"Thank you, Tim." The Turner men turned to leave. After getting in the car, Timothy suddenly climbed out again. He ran to Shelagh with a picture in his hand.

"Please, Nurse Mannion, take this picture with you." It was a shot of Tim and herself on the day of the three-legged-race, taken by Jack under strict guidance by Timothy. Shelagh chuckled at the memory. "Thank you, Tim. This is a nice one."

"My addled-brained Dad has been carrying it in his car for weeks now. He was supposed to give it to you ages ago but he says he forgot. "

Shelagh glanced at Doctor Turner in the car; he was observing them from the rear-view mirror. She could not read his expression.

Timothy ran back to the car. The Magnum was driving away slowly Timothy hanging out of the window, waving Cuthbert and shouting: "Goodbye, Nurse Mannion. See you soon!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At Hampstead, Shelagh was received with warmth and friendliness, and yet she realized that there is no going back home. Too much had happened. She had some heart-to-heart talks with Anna, giving enough information to allow Anna to come to a conclusion about her experiences and her present state of mind. It was good to have familiar ears to listen to her, but she had moved on. This homecoming seemed only to strengthen her image of where her real home was.

At the end of her first week, Shelagh received a letter, the address written with the boyish scribble of Tim. Inside the envelope, there was a photograph of Tim's drawing of Teddy bear Cuthbert. There was a small note: "Dear Nurse Mannion. I hope you are well. This is a picture of my Cuthbert drawing. I finally finished it two days ago. All the best, Timothy."

Below this message, there were three short lines written in the large, well-known, manly hand. "Do not mind my son and his silly Teddy bear. When will you come home? Regards from Patrick Turner."

She was reading the note for the hundredth time when Anna came to the hall. "So, your male siren's song calls you again? Which is the loudest, the father or the son?"

Shelagh laughed a little embarrassed. "I really don't know, Anna."

"I think you should take your chances."

"Should I? Why do you say that?" Shelagh paused a little, wondering if it was proper to say what she was thinking. They had never really discussed Anna's youth or love life. "You never married."

Anna snorted a little. "Yes, and I never technically left my father's house, either, even more amazingly. But then I never really had a chance to listen to such siren calls. First I was too young and immature, then came the war and after that I had to take care of my sister's children. Father fell ill, I had to take care of him. Then came Dorothy* and her children. Even if I never left my father's house, I have moved through untried areas. I have made a career in an area my father never knew of or was properly interested in. My professional activities have focused around children, and I have no regrets. I have lived a full life. But not everyone is the same."

"No. Not everyone is the same. But there is always the fear of…..failing. Misunderstanding. Losing yourself in some….dangerous diversion."

"Yes, the fears are always with us. They just should not cripple us. "

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Shelagh kept by her decision to stay away for two weeks. But she was nearly running up the steps of the Nonnatus House when those two weeks were done. Sister Monica Joan opened the door to her in a friendly manner. Shelagh would have been more than happy to stumble upon a running Doctor, but that was not to be. He was not there that evening, only the regular community members, glad to see her back.

The next morning she was checking the schedule of the surgery day in the Clinic Room when a buoyant Doctor Turner strode to her side.

"Hello, Nurse!" He was grinning in a most ridiculous manner. "You are back."

Shelagh gave him the list of patients. "Yes, I am. And we have half a dozen ulcer patients coming in for their checks, and there are several house calls for you later."

"And a happy homecoming it is, it seems." He was grumbling like a petulant little boy needing more attention. He gave her a reproachful look before he glanced at the list.

Shelagh retreated to the door, leaned her cheek against her hand on the door frame and took a good look of him. "It is a happy homecoming, Doctor." A smile of deep satisfaction lit her face. Her decision to keep this meeting brief and professional was crumbling fast. "This is where I belong." She left without waiting to hear his response.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that day, Shelagh was walking down the corridor, trying to pass by Doctor Turner unnoticed. He was sitting in the living room, reading.

"Nurse Mannion, please come and see this. It is an interesting new article on a new cure for psychosis."

He had an uncanny habit of checking the mirror above the mantelpiece or possibly a very finely honed skill of recognizing footsteps. How else would he have known it was her? Shelagh came in the room and sat beside him on the sofa.

"It seems there is a new drug, chlorpromazine hydrochloride." He seemed pleased indeed. "There are very promising results in tests with psychotic bipolar or schizophrenic patients. Some of them have improved to the point of being able to work again, and others have been at least able to communicate with their families in a meaningful way."

He laid the journal lie down in his lap and looked at her with sad relief. "Naturally, the best part is that the awful pain of being mad can be reduced. We hardly know how these people survive with that experience."

"Yes, we hardly know that." Shelagh was having too good a day to really think of the pain of the madness. She felt how privileged she was sitting by him, listening to that dark voice and seeing the mouth that was turned upwards. She was not going to let him reflect the sadness of diseases today.

"Doctor Turner, when you receive good news like this, don't you feel that we live an extraordinary age? An era when the mysteries of human soul are about to be revealed? That we, our generation rather than the next one, will be able to crack the code…of some of the curses that pester mankind?"

He kept gazing at her steadfastly. She swallowed a little. "I am happy to hear this news. I am happy to be home, and maybe my happiness has made me unreasonable, but I feel we are in a good place. As medical professionals."

He leaned towards her. "Yes. I think we will solve the mystery of human soul." His hand rose, like he was going to touch her hair, but then he let it drop. He rose and walked away to his surgery muttering about the home calls waiting.

Shelagh sat there for a long time, in solitude. Her mind was seeing castles in the air.

\----------------  
*Dorothy Tiffany Burlingham, who moved to Vienna with her four children in 1925 and became Anna's lifelong friend and partner in child psychoanalysis.


	11. Enter Grace Poole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note. My characters use personal pronouns for Grace/Richard in the manner of 1950s and I do not mean to hurt anyone's feelings with this. I did some research on transvestism but I can't claim any deep knowledge of the subject. This person seems to have arrived from my imagination as a fond memory of a bisexual man who was my best friend for years, so it is a writer's odd amalgam, and thus not consistent social history or a political statement. Jane Eyre has some harshness, not exactly suitable to modern sensibilities, and this may have affected my poor writer's brain, too.

Northfield Ch. 12

Shelagh heard the voices of Father Joe and Doctor Turner in the hall when she was cleaning the Clinic Room after a surgery day. Father Joe ran an asylum for prostitutes at Wellclose Square; he was a good and trusted friend of the Nonnatus House community

"Doctor Turner, I have a problem of a rather peculiar nature. There is a person called Grace Poole staying at Wellclose right now."

"I know Grace Poole. His real name is Richard Mason. He is a former patient of mine. So he has returned to Poplar, has he?"

"Yes, and I really can't keep him at my place. A transvestite causes too much disruption among the girls, and my place is really for…. women only. But he is rather sick and in need of care. Do you think Nonnatus House could take him?"

"Of course they can."

By this time Shelagh had entered the hall, with questioning eyes. Doctor Turner gave her an apologetic look:"Perhaps it is better to let Sister Evangelina decide. But there are rooms, aren't there, Nurse Mannion?"

"Yes, there are," admitted Shelagh and left for Sister Evangelina's office to ask.

xxxx

Later in the evening, when Grace Poole née Richard Mason had been accommodated and given some medical care, Shelagh found Doctor Turner and Sister Evangelina having a conversation in the kitchen.

"He should rest here for at least a few nights, but if you can keep him a week, even better. It will give him time to recuperate. That is a pretty nasty cough," Doctor Turner said, shaking his head.

"Doctor, how long do you think he will survive? With his lifestyle?" Sister Evangelina asked with some weariness.

"Your guess is as good as mine; I know you've seen this before. Perhaps some five years, maybe a spell or two at Maudsley Mental Hospital will help. The likelihood of an accidental or violent death is high among men of his kind. The best thing that could happen to him would be to find a friend to live with. Someone to look after him. He is erratic and impulsive."

"He is sharing his lodgings with someone, with another vagrant. I think she is taking care of him, in her own way. I suspect she is on her own walkabouts just now and that is why Grace is worse. Our Good Lord had an odd sense of humour when he created Grace and his kind." Sister Evangelina sighed and left.

Shelagh was surprised at their talk. She had recently learned that Doctor Turner had been a character witness for a young man accused of gross indecency.

"Why the look, Mannion? Do you have something on your mind?" Doctor Turner inquired mildly.

"Doctor. Do you believe in that? …. God's odd sense of humour?"

"As you know, Nurse, I do not believe in God, but I can accept the diversity of man." His face grew distant for a moment and there was pessimism in his voice. "The vagrant lifestyle is dangerous for him from the point of view of health care. Transvestism should not pose a danger, but it does, unhappily."

"Have you seen men like Grace often?"

"Not often but I've seen some. I saw more of the 'diversity of man', when I was in the army. When there is a large enough population you get all types." He paused, and raised his eyebrows. "This kind of behaviour may be more usual than we think. A recent report on male sexuality claims, for instance, that a good deal of men have some homosexual thoughts."

Shelagh's expression was slightly pained and betrayed incredulity. Doctor Turner's face grew tender and amused.

"What do you believe?" she asked haltingly.

"That we should live and let live." He took his bag and his sleeve brushed her arm on his way out. "A good deal. Not all," he said gently. "That is what I said."

Shelagh heard him hum a little in the hall. What was that tune?* Some war-time song.

\----------  
*) You'll never know just how much I miss you

You'll never know just how much I care

And if I tried, I still couldn't hide my love for you

You ought to know, for haven't I told you so

A million or more times?

You went away and my heart went with you

I speak your name in my every prayer

If there is some other way to prove that I love you

Vera Lynn: You'll Never Know


	12. The Proposal

Northfield Chapter 12

A happy and exuberant Grace Poole strolled down the stairs of Nonnatus House and met Shelagh in the corridor."Good to see you, Nurse Mannion! I am leaving today."

He gave a smacking kiss on both her cheeks and one directly on her lips. He hugged her tight. He was in his straight clothes, looking more like Richard Mason than Grace Poole. He in fact looked quite handsome without the wig. His face had a lean, Grecian structure, beautiful and chiselled even without makeup. The plucked eye-brows, however, gave him a slightly alien look.

Doctor Turner appeared at the other end of hall. He leaned against the kitchen door and was looking at them a bit grimly, his arms across his chest.

"Thank you, Grace, are you sure you feel well enough to go home?" Shelagh asked, having become quite attached to this strange, impulsive but gentle man.

"Yes, I am, thanks to your care, Wonder Woman Mannion. Oh, Doctor Turner, thanks and goodbye." Grace shook Doctor's hand.

Then Grace left, whistling and swinging his bag.

"Shelagh, you should not let him kiss you."

Shelagh met Doctor Turner's thunderous gaze evenly. It took some effort, as her heart started racing at the sound of her Christian name on his lips.

"What business is it of yours, Doctor? He was just happy. A little friendly greeting isn't going to kill me."

He had never before been so territorial. The expectation rising in her mind and body was intoxicating.

He was standing there, lost in thought, his face a comical mixture of discomfort and longing. "What business is it of mine? Let's find out." He pulled her after him into the kitchen, closed both doors, and drew her a chair on one side of the table. He sat on the other side.

His lips were twitching and his cheeks had a tense tremor. He was fidgeting with his thumbs again.

He inhaled hard. "I'd better make a clean breast of it. I think you are my equal in everything."

"I am indeed."

"In fact, you are better than me in speaking the truth. And you have a sensible way with my son."

"Yes."

"So let's get married."

"What did you say?"

"I want to marry you. Sorry, I wish to marry you."

A silence. He started to tap his fingers on the table restlessly.

"Shelagh. Why aren't you saying anything?"

She remained silent, but her eyes filled with tears. He rose quickly and kneeled at her side taking her hand. His face was full of anticipation. "What's the matter?"

Shelagh swallowed and said: "That was not much of a proposal. You seem to think that straightforwardness suits me, and it does…"

He caressed her hand, stroked it with his jittery fingers. "But you find my manners lacking again?"

"To put it bluntly, yes. In cases like this, even though we are…equals as you say, it is customary to talk a little…of love."

Patrick's face became desperate. "Love?" He pulled her into his arms. "Do I love you, you unearthly little thing? I love you so much that my heart breaks. That is why I can't speak of it." His voice carried a dangerous edge.

She pulled his face up, cupped it in her hands, and looked at his countenance, the longing shining there so bare that it made her bones ache.

"You really want to marry me?" He nodded. "Because you love me?" He nodded again.

"Then, Doctor Turner, I will marry you." He raised her up, locked her in a bear hug and swayed her in his arms. This rough manner reassured Shelagh more than any whispered endearments could have done.

"Patrick," he said, pleadingly.

"What did you say?"

"Would you call me by my name?"

"Patrick, I will marry you. "

His hands were at her nape of her neck pulling her face to meet his lips. Their innate kinship that had been stirring and smouldering in so many tense moments flamed into full blaze in this first kiss. She didn't feel clumsy or awkward, she felt that this was the right place for her: held by his muscular arms, caressed by him, grazed by his stubble, her lips open to his demanding, lingering kiss. Here was a man who adored her; though, it was odd that he should. Gone was the brusqueness, the blunt words, and the teasing. Instead, he seemed so vulnerable in his need of her; it touched her to the core of her whole being. Her heart swelled as her body responded to his caresses. She was hot, starting to pant. He tightened his embrace, once again swaying with her. "Shelagh, darling…." His voice was teary.

"My love, please, I need air, " Shelagh pleaded.

Her words made him chuckle. "A little breathless, are you? Overwhelmed?"

"Patrick!"

He was instantly apologetic. "I am overwhelmed. By you. I never knew man could be this happy."

She cradled his head on her shoulder. "Neither did I."

He started to laugh. She joined his mirth. "My own Mannion. How I have yearned to tell you that I love you."

Her face dimmed. "I sometimes could not see what kept you."

"I was astounded. Frightened. I have a fair share of fears. Disappointments."

She looked at him tenderly, and l wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Then she hid her face into the crook of his shoulder.

"I am a widower years older than you… A moody, uneasy man. And I have a son. "

"I love that son."

Now it was his turn to look at her like she was the most endearing creature in the whole world. "I hope you do. Will you let me tell that son…what is about to befall us?"

Shelagh turned serious at once. "You may tell him. I know I am going to take on quite heavy responsibilities. I know he likes me, but a stepmother is still something to get used to. Not quite comparable to mother."

He was so taken by her that he seemed not to listen. "I think he agrees with his old man: It is impossible to not love you." She could see his ridiculous grin before he drew her to him again.


	13. Chapter 13

Northfield Chapter 13

Shelagh woke up the next morning with the memory of the previous night still stirring a warm sensation in her body. After dressing and trying to figure out who that smiling, blooming lady in her mirror was, she went downstairs.

While eating breakfast in the kitchen, she heard Sister Monica Joan in the living room having a chat with a small girl, Glenda Severs.

Glenda was one of the Nonnatus House "lost" children: it seemed that she preferred this milieu to her home. Shelagh knew that she had a sensible father as well as a step-mother and a baby sister, but something always made her return to Nonnatus House. She even took part in prayers, fingering her dark curls while singing Magnificat with her feeble girl voice.

"The lantern parade will be great. Even my father has promised to come watch us. It will be exciting carrying a turnip lantern, with a real, lighted candle."

"It is the turnips' glow that lights the way of the dead. That was the old Pagan belief. It is an old tradition where the Christian and Pagan beliefs meet," Sister Monica Joan gently commented. Glenda didn't seem to mind Sister's odd ramblings.

"I know that Jesus came back from the dead and did miracles. So is Jesus a ghost, Sister Monica Joan? I'd like to see a ghost."

"No, dear, in reality, I don't think you will. And Jesus is not a Ghost, not in the pagan sense. He is the Spirit that created the Heaven and Earth, though. According to the Nicean Creed."

"My mother's dead and I should like to see her. Will you bring her back for Halloween?"

Sister Monica Joan sighed, conflicted. "Glenda, I can't do that. But I will come and watch your parade."

"Great. Jack and Timothy will be there, and all the Girl Brigade. I can't wait. Now I have to go to school. Goodbye, Sister, bye Nurse Mannion." Glenda was gone, her school bag swinging as she walked briskly.

Shelagh had come to stand on the door step and Sister Monica Joan looked at her mournfully. "Poor girl. Fred Buckle has told me that Glenda's mother is not really dead, but run away to Liverpool, ages ago. Her father and stepmother are good people and she is in safe hands. Yet her imagination runs so wild that I sometimes think it would be better if she was told the truth about her mother."

Shelagh suppressed a smile, not that Glenda's life wasn't sad, but she found it amusing that Sister Monica Joan would see the need of curbing someone's imagination.

A rather formal, insistent call was heard from the hall. "Nurse Mannion, would you mind coming to the surgery? I need your assistance." It was Doctor Turner. Shelagh left with flying steps to the surgery.

Once she was inside, Doctor Turner closed the door behind her and pushed her against it with a satisfied, mischievous grin. He bent his head to kiss her, circling his arms around her back. She gripped him by his waist, moving her hands up to his ribcage. Only after a moment, she pushed him from her with an embarrassed laugh.

"Patrick, you are crazy. What if someone comes in? This is a public place and the two other doors are not locked."

He kept his hands in hers, with a twinkle in his eyes. "I needed a quick diagnosis for a heart that overflows with love. Mine. What do you say?"

"Oh, it is a severe case of overflowing love, indeed. Is it catching? I might be in danger of infection."

He snickered and tried to kiss her again. She stopped him. "Patrick, be sensible. What did Timothy say?"

"He is over the moon. He will call on you after school." He bent close to her again. At that moment, the other door to the hall opened and Sister Monica Joan appeared. The lovers stepped quickly apart.

"Jupiter and Neptune will be aligned in a few weeks first time since 1917. A rare union. It could mean something unexpected like this should happen." The Sister was oddly serene, as she was not surprised at all.

Patrick and Shelagh each let out a stifled laugh.

"Good morning, Sister Monica Joan," Doctor greeted her. "I just remembered I have an urgent consultation meeting at the London. I have to leave."

"You're leaving me to explain this to her. Chicken," Shelagh said to him under her breath while he was packing his bag.

"You are no damsel in distress, my dear, you are my equal," he said in a low voice tingling with amusement. The he turned to Sister Monica Joan: "Good day to you. Nurse Mannion will fill in all the details of…the situation, if you ask nicely." He left.

Shelagh met Sister Monica Joan's eyes evenly. After all, there can be no hiding of their engagement, not after Timothy comes to call.

"'My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door, and my bowels were moved for him.' Nurse Mannion, do you plan to marry this man? Our Doctor Turner?" Sister Monica Joan's voice was undisturbed.

"Yes, Sister. I hope that you cite The Song of Solomon because you approve."

"There is nothing that stands in the way of true love. I hope you will be happy, dear."

Sister Monica came and took both Shelagh's hands in a most friendly, sincere manner. Then, on a whim, her face turned serious again.

"'For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest.'"

"What do you mean, Sister?" Shelagh asked, confused.

"Nothing, my dear. As I said earlier to Glenda Severs, it says this in Corinthians: "'For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face.' "

And with those words she left.


	14. Mushy stuff. And a letter.

There is really no way to prevent the meetings of lovers, not even with long days of house calls, community meals, prayers, fatherly duties or district nursing. Shelagh and Patrick met every day, under the benevolent, but watchful eyes of Mrs. Fairfax or Sister Evangelina. Sometimes they were chaperoned by the happy, but occasionally slightly disgusted Timothy.

When Timothy first saw his Dad and Shelagh kissing, a completely appropriate peck on the lips, he winced: "Is there going to be a lot of this in the future? Do you really have to? I like the idea of us being a family, but…"

Patrick and Shelagh exchanged an amused glance. "You'd better just toughen up, son, and take it like a man. We are not going to give it up," Patrick advised him. Shelagh laughed and felt once again elated at the prospect of being part of this family.

XXX

On some evenings, they stole a private moment on the Nonnatus House porch or in the garden. On one particular chilly evening, Shelagh had been waiting there a long time for Patrick, who was late as usual.

Finally, there he was, leaping up the steps to the Nonnatus House porch. "There she is, waiting for me in the cold. Oh my mustard seed, it seems you can't do without me. What blushes I see."

He gathered her in his arms determinedly and bent to kiss her. "See, I made a little poem for you."

"Your imitation of a romantic lover is very bad. Skip it."

He roared with laughter. "I was certain you would admonish me in exactly that way if I ever dared to try to be soppily romantic. Where's your coat? Never mind. Take mine."

He put his coat on her, pulling it tight around her.

"I want you to wear my clothes. Preferably my pyjamas," he whispered to her ear.

Shelagh hid her blush against his waistcoat. This comment needed a rebuttal before it kindled a full fire. "Where did this possessiveness come from? You are supposed to be a modern man: no fuss, no futile propriety rules. You're acting like a primitive one."

"All right, I will rephrase it. I am just so glad to be able to share all that is mine."

"That's better."

"All my worldly goods I thee endow. 60 days to the wedding."

The tone was teasing, but Shelagh was swept away by the underlying tenderness. They had indeed fixed the wedding day as Christmas Eve. "You expect me to promise to obey you, do you?"

"Yes, I do. It is just a clever trick, this wedding ceremony. The obeying part is there to keep my self-respect in the eyes of the world. Because in truth, I am the servant and you are the mistress."

They sat down on a bench. "So, love, how was your day? What have you been doing?"

"Nothing much, just work. Tim needed help with his biology homework. How long butterflies live and so on. And I wrote Granny Parker a letter."

"You did?"

"She was so kind to send me that bouquet of roses in congratulation. I wanted to thank her properly, it is very nice of her to be so supportive."'

Patrick became subdued. "Joan is a great, tough old lady. I really like her. You two should meet before the wedding."

"You should ask her to come for visit."

"Yes." There was a silence for a moment. He stroke the new engagement ring on her hand while draping his left arm across her shoulders.

Then his face grew mock grim. "Are you still thinking of buying that grey silk dress?"

She had found a most stylish dress on one of their outings in the shops. She thought it would be a very suitable wedding dress. Some of her insecurities had come to surface, at least regarding clothes. Jennifer Turner was always so smart in photographs, and Shelagh wanted to be as subtly elegant as she had been. The grey dress seemed so ladylike. Patrick had expressed his opinion at the shop, in French: non, non, absolument non! But she didn't let that stop her plan.

"Patrick, it is going to be a very small wedding. It is a lovely dress, and will be very useful as a fine party dress later. Why the sad face, tyrant? Why the fuss about keeping with the white tradition?"

He sighed. "I think that obey clause cannot come fast enough." He grinned and pulled her into an embrace. "For various reasons!"

xxxxxx

Another evening and another tete-a-tete. Patrick and Shelagh were lounging on the Turners' sofa. Mrs. Fairfax had gone to bed after reminding Shelagh to not stay too late.

The pair were still sometimes speaking in riddles and metaphors, as lovers do.

Shelagh rested against his chest, in a loose hold. "My heart has four chambers. Nonnatus House and your house. You and Timothy."

"A good place to be. My Mistress of Chambers."

"You know I yearn for a fifth chamber. Do you think it could be…possible?"

His contentment was shown in a little, happy grunt, muffled in her hair. "Yes. I would think so. In due time. When you want and if you want…."

He grinned. "As a Doctor I shake my head at your knowledge of the anatomy of the heart. A nurse should know better. As your fiancée" – his voice trembled with pride when he said it – "I delight in your dreams. I would like a baby."

"Oh, Patrick, I have been given so much, and I still long for more. I sometimes feel ungrateful."


	15. The Halloween Parade

The lanterns spread their shimmering glow on the Poplar main street. The Cub Scouts and the Girls Brigade marched at a steady pace, some of them slightly awkward, some more confident with the task. They were cheered by the crowd at the sides, proud parents and other residents of Poplar.

Patrick and Shelagh were among the crowd, their first outing as an engaged couple. Shelagh felt that they were being observed. Although the staring and murmuring was good-natured, she still felt a little exposed. She was grateful that Patrick didn't try any displays of affection in public.

The marchers dispersed after arriving at the Wellclose Square and started the picnic. Shelagh saw Glenda Severs with her father reminding her of what had transpired earlier that week.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Patrick. Timothy and I were up in the attic at your house a couple of days ago looking for some real lanterns for the leading marchers. Timothy was sure that they were stored in your attic after last year's parade."

"So those are ours, those steel lanterns in the parade?"

"Yes. But Timothy also found an old camera there. He said it could be his mother's….Jennifer's old one."

"Yes, it could be. She had one, but I thought Granny Parker kept it. I do not know half the stuff at our attic."

"There was actually a film inside the camera and Tim said he would develop it. But I haven't seen the pictures yet."

"Let's ask him." Patrick beckoned Timothy to come to them. "Did you develop the film from that old camera you found? Was there anything interesting on it?"

Timothy shook his head. "No, Dad. Someone must have had a finger on lens or it was never used. No pictures. May I go now? Jack is waiting. Dad, I know you want to go home and do your stuff" - there was a contemptuous stress on the word stuff that made Patrick and Shelagh laugh – "but can I stay for half an hour?"

"Yes, you may, son. We will leave for home. Bedtime at 10 sharp for you, though." Timothy ran back to his mates.

Patrick and Shelagh walked back to Nonnatus House. When the street was suddenly nearly empty, Patrick caught Shelagh by her shoulders and pressed her against his chest. "That's my girl. It was a nice parade, wasn't it?"

Shelagh agreed that it was. "I seem to have toughened up after all. It is not so hard to be seen publicly with you."

He chortled. "I should hope so." They continued walking and he said in a slightly altered tone: "I had a long talk with Joan yesterday on the phone. Granny Parker, I mean. She asked me to thank you for the letter."

"Good. Is she coming to visit?"

"Yes. There is some…family business we need to deal with. And she has some of Jennifer's papers and things at her house that she thinks should now belong to Timothy. I will drive there next week on Sunday and will fetch her to visit us. "

After a pause he continued: "After Joan's visit, we should have a proper discussion about what we want. Where we should live? Which grammar school Timothy should go to? You know, married stuff. Warts and all. This will be a rather complicated family arrangement. I hope you will not regret it. You will take on, to be honest, readymade relatives, family habits and customs instead of creating your own family from a fresh start."

"Oh, I don't mind that." She kept her eyes downcast. She wanted to talk a little more about having a baby but didn't dare. She didn't see his bleak face.

"I want you to be certain, to be sure that this is what you want. I mean, to be sure that you will get what you want."

"But I am. I am completely certain. There is a string from my heart attached to yours. We belong together."

He stopped walking and embraced her again. He talked his head leaning on the top of her head: "I have sensed from the first time we met that you would do me good. Make me whole again. I have a habit of leaving things behind rather than dealing with. That should change."

"Yes, you have that habit. You don't have to do that anymore. With me."


	16. Chapter 16

Two days after the Halloween parade Patrick came to see his fiancée after an evening of house calls. He met Shelagh outside Nonnatus House where she was smoking a cigarette.

"Oh, have you become a smoker now? I am a bad influence, am I not?" He furrowed his brow before lowering his head to kiss her.

She stubbed out the cigarette, smiling wanly. "I needed to calm down."

"Really? What's happened?"

"I will tell you. Let's go inside."

Once they were inside, Shelagh grabbed his arm and said: "Patrick, it is the oddest thing."

"What is, love? Wait one moment, I will take my coat off."

She walked ahead of him to the living room and sat on the sofa.

He sat by her, astonished by her worried look. Then his face grew tense and wild. "Where's Tim? Has something happened to him?"

She stroked his arm "No, love. Tim's all right. He is at home in the good care of Mrs. Fairfax. I saw him only an hour ago. But it is related to Tim. "

"What is it?"

"Do you remember that camera I told you about….the one we found in the attic before Halloween. "

"Yes."

"It seems there was no finger on the lens. The film was not dark or empty. Tim developed the photographs. I found a pile of pictures when I was rummaging the closets in the Red Room. I was trying to find nail polish for Grace Poole. I remembered that there was a half-empty bottle in there."

"Is Grace staying with you again? "

"Yes, he arrived yesterday. I haven't seen him, though. I have been on the district rota this week. It was Sister Evangelina who accommodated him and asked for the nail polish today. But Patrick, the photographs…."

His mouth twitched as he looked at her and his eyes narrowed. "Yes, what about them?"

"There are pictures of Tim as a baby which aren't in his family album. And pictures of you and Jennifer together…. "

"That does not sound something he would hide and lie about…."

"No. But in two of the pictures there is a person I have never seen before. She is sitting in the garden with Jennifer; it is a woman who looks exactly like Jennifer, except that she is blonde and has more makeup and painted eyebrows…"

Patrick's look became troubled indeed. Shelagh took a very firm grip of his hand. She looked directly in his pained eyes: "Who is she, Patrick?"

He opened his mouth and could not yet utter a word.

Shelagh continued with a rapid torrent of words, fearfully: "Patrick, she was wearing a Northfield hospital dressing gown. The name was embroidered on her sleeve. She has a harried look about her. She is holding a Teddy bear in her hands. It looks like Cuthbert. Patrick, was she a patient? Is she a relative of Jennifer's?"

Patrick's voice was low and heavy. He was pressing Shelagh's hand hard. "She was. She was a relative of Jennifer. She is dead. Her name is Elaine, she was Jennifer's twin. And yes, she was a patient. She was very sick indeed."

At that moment there was a noise in the hall. Patrick raised his head to look the mirror to see if someone was there but saw no-one. Then he turned to Shelagh: "Shelagh, Elaine is someone Timothy does not know about. He must have been confused by the pictures."

"He had an aunt that he does not know about?"

"Yes. The Parker family has some ghosts. Or closeted…things. I am sorry that I haven't told you about Elaine. I was going to do that, but the appropriate time never appeared. I was waiting for Joan to arrive, to help me explain. She has urged me to tell you about all this."

He took Shelagh in his arms. "Darling, I am so sorry". She appeared taut with shock and somewhat reluctant. They listened to each other's breathing for a while.

A door was heard slam very hard. "Is that Grace? It sounds like Grace," asked Patrick, with some agitation.

Then he let Shelagh go. He pressed his hands on his thighs. "I suggest we take a look at these photographs. "

"They are in my room."

They made their way to her room, a short walk. It was like walking to the gallows together, Shelagh thought.

She opened the door and gasped at the sight. Patrick took a firm hold of her. He grimaced.

There were pieces of photographs all over the floor. They had been torn. From one shred, the mysterious woman's harrowing face stared up at them. Patrick muttered "bloody hell" and kneeled to pick up that piece.

"It is Elaine in the picture. But who has been here and torn the pictures?"

A sound of fast approaching footsteps was heard from the fall. It was a breathless Sister Evangelina. "Oh good, how fortunate you happen to be here, Doctor. Our new resident needs medical care. She is in much worse condition than I thought. I would not have taken her in if I'd known she was this bad. Quickly, she needs a sedative."

"She?" inquired Doctor Turner with a pressured voice. "It is not Grace Poole?"

"No, it his flat mate, a new person in Poplar. A lady with bleached hair and long finger nails and…" - Sister Evangelina was waving her arms -"God knows what. Shelagh, could you call an ambulance while we take a look at her?"

Patrick took his bag and ran after Sister Evangelina to the guest wing. Shelagh called an ambulance. Then she collapsed on a chair in the hall to wait. She was still holding that piece of Elaine's photograph in her hand.

The ambulance arrived and the men went to the guest wing. After a while they came down carrying the patient whose face showed all the marks of sedative-induced haze. She had a large, curled bob of blonde hair and the Parker family features.

Patrick came after the stretcher. Shelagh raised her head to meet his bleary eyes.

"Shelagh, wait for me…I will come back in a minute. Sister Evangelina will go with the ambulance."

The sound of ambulance siren faded away. Patrick came back to the hall. He leaned against the wall at some distance from Shelagh. He covered his face with his hand.

Then he turned to Shelagh and offered his hand. She had not moved from her slumped position. "Come, love. We need to talk."


	17. Chapter 17

They stood before the fireplace, looking at each other, anguished.

"So, it is Elaine?" Shelagh asked.

That was a rhetorical question. Patrick nodded.

"Yes. I…we…we all assumed she was dead. Or rather, we didn't know if she was dead or alive. I should….I should call Joan. But there is something I need to tell you."

His hands had a tremor, and he bowed his head. "Timothy is adopted."

"Adopted?"

"Yes. And he does not know it. Yet. In the circumstances, we thought it better that way."

"What circumstances?"

"He is Elaine's natural child. She is his birth mother. But he has been with us since the day he was born. Shelagh, you'd better sit down. I will tell you the whole story. "

xxxxxx

"I knew both the Parker girls since I was twelve. My father had a general practice in Birmingham. He was drawn to the Northfield experiments after the new methods proved successful with some of his patients. Our families were friends, the Parkers, Bions, Rickmans, and the Foulkes*. And us Turners. Doctor Parker was a gregarious man. We had jolly parties and a lot of scientific discussions. The children were even invited to join in.

The man I most admired, though, was Rickman. He had been through war traumas himself. He was one of the first psychoanalysts to seek re-analysis and help when he felt his professionalism had failed. He was a remarkable man, a pacifist and a conscientious objector committed to progress. Jennifer was very enchanted with him too.

But I digress.

Jennifer was the elder twin, beautiful, composed and strong. But it was not her I was taken with at first. Elaine was brilliant. Mercurial. She had a dashing sense of fashion, and a wicked sense of humour."

Shelagh saw that this act of remembrance made him restless and uneasy, as if his mind was detached from his body. He was talking of these long gone events as if he had been an observer, not a participant.

"Elaine and I got engaged when she was seventeen and I nineteen. But it didn't last. She grew unstable. She became… crazy. She seemed to be on the brink of psychosis. After some….impropriety which was not her fault alone but mine too, she broke our engagement and ran away to France. To study medicine, it was said. Later I learned from Jennifer that it was really medicine, drugs and vagrancy, depending on her mental state. The Parkers were distressed and ashamed. They had a hard time accepting the fact that their daughter was ill.

Our sorrow for Elaine had drawn Jennifer and me together. We were about to get married when Elaine came back, without any notice. She was clearly having a bad phase."

He jerked a little. "By that time, the sisters didn't look so much alike anymore. Elaine had bleached her naturally brunette hair totally blonde. One sign of her illness, as we have learned from textbooks." He paused. "It is still odd to see that happening to someone who…you've known since childhood."

He halted again for some moments, swallowing hard.

"The well-meaning Doctors in our circle tried to help and organized group therapy for Elaine and her family. Jennifer and I attended too, as a matter of course."

Shelagh's pinched her lips.

"Yes, Shelagh, I see you wincing. But it wasn't quite so extraordinary, and still isn't. I am sure that you have seen such sessions at Hampstead Heath. We were young, we were experimenting, and we believed that we could change the world. We worshipped our heroes, the pioneering Doctors. Jennifer and I held Rickman in high esteem, in many ways similar with you admiring Anna Freud. That kind of admiration can be deceptive."

He gave her a questioning look. "Did you know that Ernest Jones wished to marry Anna Freud?"

Shelagh was astonished. "No, I didn't." She kept her counsel for a while. She had to ruminate this. "I know that Doctor Jones helped the Freuds to emigrate. They owe their life to him, in one sense."

"Yes, that is true. He has done more for them as a human being than as a fellow scientist or a possible son-in-law. But Anna was kept from him by her father. He didn't encourage Jones' attachment. Was he within his rights to meddle?"

Shelagh, still shocked by the primary news of the day, could not quite respond. "I don't know. I know that the families have remained friendly, despite some professional disputes. What is it that you are trying to say?"

"I try to point out that we are humans and families first and Doctors and healers second. We should not blur the line between the private and the professional." He inhaled deep. "But we didn't think of that carefully enough in 1938."

"We should not have experimented on a frail human person like Elaine. The group therapy was where she really deteriorated. She was angry because I had transferred my feelings to Jennifer despite the fact that Elaine was the one to break our engagement and run away. Yet she accepted the idea of counseling with the two of us included. She became suicidal. Electric shock treatment was recommended. Despite their misgivings, the Parkers ultimately agreed. After the treatment, Elaine seemed better, but she went away again. To Paris, or so she said. After two years – Jennifer and I were, of course, married by then – she came back, pregnant."

He paused, eventually continuing slowly in a heavy voice:

"It was the right time to return because Jennifer was also pregnant. Identical twins have an odd kinship. I do not believe in anything supernatural, but I wonder about their seemingly telepathic communication, like a thread in the heart connecting the sisters. "

He was silent for a long time.

"We heard stories that Elaine had told to all and sundry that the baby she was expecting was mine. She had to be certified. "

He was fidgeting with his thumbs again.

"Jennifer miscarried at five months. The shock induced Elaine's labor. Timothy was born premature, at eight months. A precarious baby.

Elaine was not much better after the birth. Cuthbert was her gift to the baby. Although at first he wasn't called Cuthbert. She had named that Teddy bear Sir Galahad."

Shelagh let out a little sob. Patrick put his cold hand on hers. She let it happen but after a while pulled her hand away.

"Jennifer wanted us to become Tim's legal guardians. Elaine was angry. Because she was still certified, the Parkers suggested at first that we not tell her, as she had no say in the matter. But Jennifer was an upright person and struggled with her conflicting responsibilities. She wanted to be honest. She didn't mind the rumours that I was Tim's real father. She was a courageous woman, and a caring one.

Elaine disappeared again after that. One year later we legalized the adoption.

I haven't seen her since then. Since 1940. She didn't turn up at Jennifer's funeral in 1945. Joan and I made an effort to find her, but it was impossible with all the upheaval after the war. Gradually, we fell into the habit of not talking about her. It was not a conscious choice at first. I swear that, Shelagh. But there was an element of….survivor's guilt in the Parker family, with Jennifer and me especially. We had talked of how and when to tell Timothy, but chastened by the misguided group counselling, we were conflicted. If Jennifer hadn't died….Granny Parker was the one to give Tim that family album with no pictures of Elaine. Lately, Joan has talked of how Timothy should be told all this. She herself would like to share some memories of her girls with her only grandchild, before…it's too late.

I know it sounds like a pitiful story. We should have made more effort in finding her. I am too busy; Joan is too old. We were wounded by so much. It made us paralysed.

I really can't defend myself. Except that I have never intentionally lied.

I know that some gossip-mongers here at Poplar talk of me as a morally suspect person. But that is the lot of those who work in psychiatry and who are progressive. Ignorance and stupidity, you can't beat those. I think my work here is a testimonial to my character."

He raised his head and looked at Shelagh with wistful eyes.

"Then I met you."

Shelagh started to cry. He moved closer and caressed her hair. "My darling little elf. My own poor lost lamb. Do you not think that if I had had the opportunity, I would have prevented this? My brilliant comrade-in-arms. I should have been a better soldier. "

He wiped her tears with his handkerchief. "There. My brave, bold girl. "

He pulled himself apart a little. "I have managed for so long by keeping this matter in the past: not thinking of it, not talking of it. It all took place in the most extraordinary circumstances. "

Shelagh drew a breath. "Extraordinary circumstances," she said in a little voice.

"Yes, sweetheart. Even if you can't take it all in now, you will in time. We are too strong to let this destroy us. We will find a way, I promise."

"Patrick….."

"Yes?"

"You said…..impropriety. With Elaine. When you were engaged."

Patrick turned his head away. His mouth twitched.

"Did you have sexual relations with Elaine?"

He let his head drop. "Yes."

Shelagh was silent for a quite long time. Then she asked in a monotone voice: "And you aren't Timothy's natural father?"

She could hear his teeth gnaw. "No." His voice was hoarse.

Shelagh rose. Patrick took her hand. "Please, do not leave now, Shelagh." But he didn't try to stop her when she left the room.

"Sorry, Patrick, I can't….talk anymore. Not today."  
...................

*) British pioneers of group psychoanalysis/therapy, some of whom experimented with shell-shocked soldiers at Northfield hospital


	18. The Moor House at Hampstead Heath

Early next morning, Shelagh crept down the stairs to the Nonnatus House hall with her suitcase in one hand and three letters in another. When she arrived at the surgery door, she heard a voice behind her.

"You seek to depart unnoticed. But know this: The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in." It was Sister Evangelina, looking concerned and stern at the same time.

Shelagh turned to her. "I wish I could explain. I can't. I have to leave. I have to."

"I know something is wrong. Doctor Turner came to call at the hospital…to see his sister-in-law."

Shelagh swallowed. So Patrick had confided in Sister Evangelina to some degree.

"As concerned as he was for her, his real concern seemed to be you. He asked me to watch over you and offer whatever help you need."

Shelagh broke into tears. Sister Evangelina took Shelagh's bag, putting it on the floor and the letters on a desk. She hugged her and made some comforting sounds. "There now….my poor girl. "

It took a while for Shelagh to calm down. Then they sat.

Shelagh gave Sister Evangelina the letters. "The first one is to you. The others…one to…Doctor Turner. And one to Timothy."

"Can you tell me what is in these letters?"

"That I can't go through with the marriage, and that I must leave." She felt she could not reveal all her doubts and fears to this good Sister, and she wasn't sure if she even saw the events in their true proportions. It was not her place to talk about Timothy being adopted; it was private. Elaine's illness was private, too, although it had been revealed to Sister Evangelina. "I'm afraid I can't say much else at the moment, Sister."

Sister Evangelina looked rather helpless and a bit grim. She promised to deliver the letters to Patrick and Timothy. "Beware though, Shelagh, I can't promise that I will not talk with Doctor Turner if he wishes to talk about the situation."

Shelagh nodded. That was one reason why she felt it was not right for her to reveal all the aspects of this unhappy affair.

"I am sorry to leave you in such a spot. I should have given two weeks' notice, but…"

Sister Evangelina shook her head. "I think you are in need of a compassionate leave. I think you should find a doctor who orders you to rest. You can go to Hampstead. Leave the practicalities to me."

With these promises, she left for Hampstead. She was warmly welcomed and no questions were asked at first. At the end of her first week there, Anna said that to work again at Hampstead, they really needed to know about her state of mind. Shelagh told her what had happened, a version as close to the truth she could tell without too much agony and tears.

Anna seemed to be thinking hard. "I think you should continue working here at the nursery for a while. Later, you should perhaps seek help. I don't know which kind of help, professional, therapeutic, spiritual – whatever you need. But that can wait." Shelagh accepted the offer to work at the nursery, and to the other help – she really could not yet say what she needed.

Over time, stability returned to her life. Obviously her thoughts lingered on the events, on Patrick and Timothy and all that had passed. Had she been too trusting or too brash – or was she too accident prone, a typical trauma survivor's problem? She was trying to solve these questions and see her own responsibility lie for what had gone wrong.

Shelagh felt she made progress, even if her heart ached still. As days went by, she was ready admit that Patrick had indeed been close to addressing some difficult subjects – he had been talking of marriage with warts and all. She had been so involved in her own feelings and desires that it must have been difficult for him to bring up family history. Elaine's arrival at Poplar was something he could not have foreseen. She felt that Patrick and herself had been in a sort of bubble, seeing only each other and their dreams of a new family, Timothy included. Now they had woken up into reality.

Then, in the first week of December, she got an unsigned letter addressed in an unknown hand. The letter contained a single photograph: a tall man and a boy, facing away from the camera at a distance. Patrick and Timothy. The location was a familiar Poplar Street; she recognized the buildings. Who had sent this picture to her and why? Was there some message in it?

Her mind ran full circle of who might be the sender, from A-Z, including Patrick himself and Sister Evangelina. Yet she felt that it was useless to speculate.

The next week she got a thick, large envelope, written in the same unknown hand. She opened it nervously. There was the manuscript of a psychiatric case study. It seemed like a draft or the notes for an article for some medical journal.

She had to take a deep breath and sit down when she read the abstract. It was the story of a British female patient with a long history of mental illness. Her recovery had begun as a patient in the clinical trials at a Paris mental hospital in early 1952. The trial concerned the new drug chlorpromazine*. The case study addressed how such medication and psychotherapy could be successfully combined.

It took her a good two hours to read and reflect on the case which she intuitively knew was that of Elaine Parker. The study described how well she had responded to the drug and how she had herself asked for psychotherapy. Then she had felt a need to mend her relations with her family, and for that purpose, she had left for England. She had continued treatment at University College Hospital in London under the care of Doctor Haddon, the author of this case study. A relapse in the treatment occurred when she had stopped taking the medicine for a while. The relapse included a hospitalization period, this time supported by her family members whom she had been reunited with. It was indicated that the family members included the son she had been forced to give away, to her now deceased twin sister.

The strange journey of Elaine leapt from the pages of this manuscript to Shelagh, making her both restless and oddly relieved. The author stressed the importance of family relations in recoveries like this, and while the new drug seemed helpful indeed, he said that there was no guarantee that it alone could help people with manic or paranoid symptoms in the long term. The article also hinted at other, non-psychiatric medical problems the female patient suffered from, but it didn't specify.

Shelagh felt that she should consult Anna about this strange case of a letter sender who seemed so intimate with Elaine Parker. She felt that she should perhaps contact someone at Poplar who could shed a light on the matter.

The next day, after sleeping badly, she was called to telephone by a member of staff. "Nurse Mannion, there is a young person on the line, asking for you."

When she answered the phone, she heard Timothy's voice. "Shelagh, I am sorry to bother you. I just had to call. Granny Parker knows that I am calling you, by the way. She has been staying with us…ever since."

Shelagh was on the verge of asking "what about your father", but restrained herself. Tim's voice was so little and tired.

"Tim, it is good to hear from you. I am sorry I had to leave. I….just had to."

"That's all right. Dad and Granny Parker have explained some…things. But could you come back, just for a visit? Aunt Elaine has been taken ill again, and she is at hospital."

"Is she at the University College Hospital?"

"No she is at the London. Something to do with her lungs. But it is father I am worried about. He's having some kind of breakdown."

Shelagh felt her heart cringe. "What kind of a breakdown?"

"There is a diphtheria outbreak in Poplar and he has been working long days and is exhausted. Now he's been given some medication, and he just sleeps."

There was a silence after that. Shelagh broke it. "Tim, are you still there?"

"Yes."

"Tim, it is possible that I can come to visit. You can tell Granny Parker that I will come this evening if possible. Tomorrow morning the latest."

She could hear a sigh of relief at the other end. "I will do that. Thank you Shelagh, you are a brick. "

\----------------  
*The first clinical trials were indeed made in France, but for male patients.


	19. Chapter 19

The next morning, Shelagh rang the Turner house doorbell.

She had arrived at Poplar late in the previous evening, after having called Sister Evangelina and heard her assessment of the situation. She took a room at Nonnatus House not wanting to burden Joan Parker with an additional house guest under the circumstances. She had also promised to help with the diphtheria vaccinations. Yet her deepest need was to be with Patrick. That was clear, but it made her heart anxious.

Joan Parker opened the door, a tall lady who looked a lot like Timothy. Mrs. Parker smiled at her and simply said:" It was very good of you to come. We are a bit at the end of our tether here."

Shelagh liked her straightforward, kind manner. They sat down in the living room and Mrs. Parker filled in some of the details. After Elaine had been released from the University College Hospital, she had lived with them at the Turner house for four weeks until her latent tuberculosis turned active. She was now at the London, for an evaluation and possible further treatment.

"I am not sure what is wrong with Patrick." Mrs. Parker's intelligent eyes were pained. "He just collapsed two days ago. I don't know if it was wise to allow Tim to call you, but he insisted."

"It is all right, "assured Shelagh, although still afraid if Patrick would truly want to see her. "Can I see him?"

"Yes, he is asleep upstairs. Let's go and see him, shall we? You must understand that he probably won't wake up, though. Surely you do. You are a nurse after all."

They entered his bedroom. It was odd to see such a tall, sturdy, lively man so immobile. He seemed so vulnerable in his sleep, Shelagh thought. The lines of his face were softened and his mouth, so active when he was awake, looked peaceful and innocent now. She sat down on the bed and took his hand. He seemed to understand that touch as his eyelids flickered. Yet he didn't wake up.

The doorbell rang. "Sorry, is it all right to leave you with him for a while?" Mrs. Parker asked. "I have to go and take the grocery delivery."

Shelagh agreed. After Mrs. Parker left, she took her shoes off. Then she lay herself on the other side of the bed. She crept close to Patrick and laid her head on his shoulder very carefully, taking his right arm and laying it on her hip.

It was so odd that this should be their first time in this bed together. The Christmas Eve that was supposed to be their wedding day was near. Yet there was a strange, sweet sacredness in their lying in like this. Shelagh felt her doubts and fears vanish, and all she needed was the closeness of his frail body.

He seemed to stir in his sleep: he turned towards her and started to stroke her side. He muttered in his sleep. "This is her shape, her size. This is Shelagh's shape and size…" There was a wistful little smile on his face. Shelagh felt heartened and sad at the same time. He took her hand in his. "This is her hand. These are her….elfin wings."

Then he fell again in deep sleep. He was pressing her hand firmly until little by little, his grip loosened.

XXXXX

In the evening, Shelagh was manning the Nonnatus House Clinic room by herself. All the other nurses were out at house calls, or at the Poplar Town Hall, the emergency centre hastily created to speed the vaccination program.

She had just kneeled down inside a cupboard to find the remaining box of clean needles when she heard a voice calling.

"Nurse, I need my bag. Could you help me pack it? Sister Mary Cynthia's house call patient needs an emergency tracheotomy."

She stood up and turned around. Patrick's face lit up, with a tremendous relief and a happy surprise. "Shelagh. You are back."

He opened his arms and Shelagh walked straight into his embrace and grasped him tightly. He let out a little, suppressed sob. "I thought I was just dreaming."

She controlled her teary voice as she knew he should not get excited. "No, it was not a dream, you seemed to recognize me in your bedroom…You talked of my shape and size….All of me is here. Also my heart."

A moment passed in silent, strained bliss. Then Shelagh dropped her embrace "You need your bag. It is nearly ready. I've been filling it with needles and syringes."

They finished the task together, in a hurry.

He took his bag, preparing to leave: "Shelagh, you should bring us some more vaccination serum. From what I heard from Sister Mary Cynthia, there is a large family in need of vaccination. The McLartys, in India Street."

"Yes, I will follow you after I have visited The London Pharmacy. Now go."

At the door he turned around. "I love you," he whispered.

"And I love you. Please go." He left running.

xxxxxx

Shelagh arrived at the McLarty family house in time to see the ambulance leaving. Patrick stood in the yard and as he turned, she saw his clear eyes. He nodded and smiled at her. "Patient saved," he mouthed silently. Shelagh felt immense relief, not just because Mrs. McLarty was safe, but because Patrick seemed so professional and fully in charge of the situation.

He raised his right arm and beckoned her inside. "Come, Nurse, we still have work to do. At least twelve vaccinations."

The vaccinations given, Shelagh came in to the kitchen after having cleaned the bedroom. Sister Mary Cynthia had already left.

She saw Patrick sitting there, with the cardboard of empty serum bottles beside him. He smiled again, this time a bit wanly. He stood up and came to her, and hesitated a moment before he raised his arms to take her into them.

"You. You are here." His voice had a bit of desperation. "I hope you've come to stay?"

"Yes, Patrick." Shelagh had indeed come to stay, and his expressed wish was the most delightful thing to hear.

"I thought I had lost you. I thought I had lost….my mind." His voice was a bit unsteady.

"No, Patrick, you are not lost. Not as long as I live." Then she started to cry. "I am so sorry Patrick, for what I said. I am so sorry I stayed away. I was confused…."

"Shush. I love you so much. I am also so sorry, so sorry for everything…"

He bent his head down. She felt his bony cheeks on hers, cold but so reassuring, his tentative fingers caressing her neck, and then his slightly trembling lips, dry and needy, on hers. She responded to the kiss with eagerness, melting away at his touch.

After a moment, a small eternity, she ventured to speak. "Let's get you home. "

Patrick took her head in his hands and looked at her tenderly. "Home. This is home. No more running. No more running away."

"Yes. We should promise that to each other, Patrick."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes it's hard to distinguish between ends and beginnings. Conclusions do not always hurt, and starting afresh may not feel entirely happy. Letting go brings peace and turns the tide towards the future." Call The Midwife Ep. 4.6.

Later in her life, when Shelagh thought of the strange, tense, fulfilling period before her marriage, from December to March, she felt that she was tested beforehand for her vows: they had to learn to live in sickness and in health, they took care of a child, Timmy, and they had to learn to be truly dependent on each other's comfort and help.

Elaine Parker, weakened by tuberculosis, died from pneumonia in January. She was buried in Birmingham with her sister. Timothy, the kind soul he always was, suggested that something from him was placed in the casket. He asked if it could be his drawing of Cuthbert. His will was done.

A period of sorrow followed, although Elaine's passing away was a release from a tortured life. Her journey's last track was something to be remembered with gratefulness and wistfulness, though. Patrick told Shelagh of moments of Joan, Elaine and Timothy together, sitting on Elaine's bed, talking and exchanging memories. Elaine had for all these years carried with her a diary and a notebook she and Jennifer had kept when they were young. Together, they had written stories, and there were many drawings by Jennifer that Timothy or Patrick had never before seen. It seemed that Elaine was reliving her happy childhood with Timothy, and she gave him an extraordinary gift by telling him about Jennifer. Tim, who had been five when his mother had died, relished these stories.

Joan Parker felt Elaine's death most deeply, but she was hopeful for the future. Patrick seemed burdened much in the same way he had been when Shelagh first met him. Little by little, his confidence was returning, though. Shelagh felt that their relationship, cemented in so much sorrow, should and could grow joyful and easy again. She felt it was her duty to stir Patrick up from his dullness. It needed all her courage to be bold and a leader in this relationship but for this man, she dared.

In a strange manner, Grace Poole acted as an ice-breaker and a guardian angel for them. Grace had become a family friend during the time Elaine lived with the Parkers. He seemed devoted to Elaine, and helped the family in many practical ways. Oddly, he seemed to recover and became more stable and less chaotic, as Elaine withered away. He showed his talents in cooking and gardening, helping Maureen Warren who was now training as a housekeeper for the Turners.

Grace was also good with children. One day, Shelagh was gazing through the living room window at the Turners', seeing Grace tending the early hyacinths already pushing up in the garden after the mild winter. He was accompanied by Timothy, who was eagerly asking questions about everything flora or fauna, and Maureen, who had with her a younger sister, a charming three-year-old. Grace seemed undisturbed by this posse of young people; occasionally he lifted up the young Miss Warren and cradled her in a sure manner.

Shelagh expressed her amazement with Grace's multiple skills to Patrick, who was reading on the sofa.

"Yes, Grace is very competent," Patrick agreed. "He has oddly recovered to a very stable state. With his cooking skills, he could easily compete with Maureen."

"He really is good husband material. I wonder Our Lord's sense of humour when he made a man like that….like that," Shelagh replied, with a sly smile.

"Stop hankering after him. I forbid it, I absolutely forbid it!"

Never had a cranky expression of primitive, old-fashioned male chauvinism sounded so delightful to Shelagh's ears. She loved Patrick's spurt of energy and renewed territorialism. She felt that their old bubble of love was returning, only this time they were talking with each other honestly and without riddles. Yet some gentle teasing was safe, Shelagh thought with amusement.

"Patrick, my love, what is the percentage of women who have sexual thoughts about handsome transvestites, according to Kinsey's report? You are such an expert on medical research." She came close to him, kneeled by him and grazed his knees with her hands.

Patrick could only laugh. Taking her hand, he kissed it. "You are so precious. Probably a good deal of women do. And I don't give a damn if you are one of them as long as you….stay with us."

"Thank you, Patrick. A good deal of women does not mean… ," – she rose and sat in his lap, pulling his head to her neck - "it does not mean all." After a silence she added in a breathless tone:"Some of us have other odd desires."

His mouth curved to a smile of helpless, happy satisfaction. "I thank God for that every day even if I don't believe in Him," he growled in a muffled, throaty voice, his head still in her hold.

"My beloved infidel," she whispered to his hair.

XXXXX

Eventually, Shelagh dared to tell Patrick about the odd unsigned letters.

Patrick listened to her story with incredulous eyes. To prove her story, she gave him the first page of Elaine's case study. She really didn't want to upset him, but this was the last shadow hanging over them that needed to be cleared.

His face grew bleak as he read the page. He had already told her, not in many words, but as comprehensively as he could, about Elaine's medical history over the last year.

Fiddling with the paper she gave him, he furrowed his brow slightly and said: "Remember the time we read about chlorpromazine?" Shelagh's face lit with a happy memory of that day.

"It is a phenomenon," he mused. "As I said to you earlier, it was good to meet this changed Elaine. Much of her earlier personality had been restored. Joan and I were so struck by that. "

After a silence he raised the paper before him: "I didn't send this draft, and neither did Joan, that I am sure about. I don't think any of the medical staff would do such a thing." He pondered something. "Wait a minute. Did you say that there was also a photograph sent to you? A picture of me and Timothy?"

"Yes. You from a distance, only from behind."

Patrick raised his upper lip with irony. He put his arms across his chest and said: "Grace."

"Grace?"

"Yes. Grace Poole. He sent these to you. I don't know how that man's mind works, but he was attached to Elaine and he is attached to you. He lived with Elaine, and this must be Elaine's copy of the notes."

Shelagh's eyes grew large, and she nodded in agreement. "Yes. It sounds possible." She had to exhale hard. "Grace was helping me, in a way. To come to a decision. "

Patrick started to laugh. "I should offer him my most heartfelt thanks. No doubt he will deny any part in this. Perhaps it is better to let sleeping dogs lie."

"Perhaps."

There was a question hanging in the air.

"Do you think this article should be published?" Shelagh ventured.

Patrick's eyes narrowed. Then his gaze cleared and he nodded: "I think so. It is an important piece of research on medical treatments. In practice, it will need Joan's approval for publication, but I don't mind."

A fresh surge of hope swelled in Shelagh's heart. It seemed they were on the threshold of something new and promising, both personally and professionally.

XXXX

One important matter remained undiscussed and Shelagh had started pining for a resolution.

The next day she got her chance when Patrick started to discuss some surprising new prospects. "Joan is going to employ Grace Poole," he told her. "She needs help with her garden and kitchen. I think it is a perfect plan, and a great relief to me and Timothy. She has aged a lot in the last year, and we live too far away to provide the help that she needs."

"So we are going to lose him." Shelagh's voice was tinged with sadness.

Patrick winced a little. "You could always lure him back to work as a part-time nanny for us. Should the need arise."

"Yes, I could." Shelagh pouted her mouth a little. All this talk of nannies and us was very pleasing but he had not approached the Great Matter directly yet. She cleared her throat.

"Patrick, have you noticed that you haven't in fact said anything? Of some… matters. Not enough."

His lower lip turned over his upper lip in a comical, yet endearing mirror to her pout. His eyes twinkled. He put his arm around her waist. Letting out a satisfied snort, he smirked and gloated: "Have I not? You are asking me to pop the question? Why not do it yourself, equals as we are?" He was nudging her hair and ear with his mouth in a manner too titillating to Shelagh's heightened senses.

She laughed and took a step aside.

"You do it. Just this once. One last time."

"All right, Nurse Mannion. I need a wife."

"Do you really? When you have such a capable gardener, nanny and Major Domo in Grace Poole?"

"Yes, you whippersnapper, I just told you Grace is moving to Birmingham. I need a wife. Could you be that wife?"

"Thanks for the straight talk at last. Yes, I could be that wife. Soon. Very soon. Please."

"Oh yes, yes, soon," he murmured.

He was losing his control and kissing her neck in impatient manner. His hands roamed insistently on her back, and she arched close to him. Shelagh nuzzled his trembling jawline, she fondled his temples; her whole body shuddered. She opened her lips, seeking his, her breath hitching. Their deepest cravings found a fulfillment in each other, in this passionate exchange of kisses: a body worshipping a body, two minds blazing in unison, in love and tenderness. This was home. No more running.

xxxxxx

Reader, she married him.

She became bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. She never wearied of his society, neither did he of hers, any more than we each do of the pulsation of the heart that beats in our separate bosoms; consequently, they were ever together. To be together was for them to be at once as free as in solitude, as gay as in company. They talked, I believe, all day long: to talk to each other was but a more animated and an audible thinking. All her confidence was bestowed on him, all his confidence was devoted to her; they were precisely suited in character—perfect concord was the result.


End file.
